


Mortal Allies Series - Episode 2: Spike's a Good Boi

by Passion4Spike



Series: Mortal Allies [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 61,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passion4Spike/pseuds/Passion4Spike
Summary: After leaving Sunnydale with his dark princess, promising to never return, Spike is forced to break his word only a few months later. He left something on the Hellmouth that he desperately needs back. It's a matter of life and death ... or unlife and dust. What he thought would be a quick retrieval mission gets more complicated as he pulls into a town of adult teenagers, all 'drunk' on cursed Band Candy. It only gets worse when he realizes the item in question is under The Slayer's almost constant protection. It looks like another truce with the Slayer may be his only option.





	1. Crunchy Rabbits

**BEFORE WE BEGIN**

**Warnings and Disclaimers:**

**Rated:** PG (language)

**WARNING** : Spike and Dru are still a couple in this story, but Spike and Buffy will be working together, getting to know and annoy each other for the majority of the fic. This 'episode' of this series will not end with Buffy and Spike falling into each other's arms and declaring undying love. So, if you need that, you may want to wait for more of the series to be complete. Buffy and Spike do spend a LOT of time together and both start to see each other in a new light, there will be plenty of 'feel good' moments and some not so great ones between them. It's a process. I hope you'll come along for the ride.  
   
Although not 100% necessary, you may want to read Episode 1 of this series ([Not Monster Enough](https://dark-solace.org/elysian/viewstory.php?sid=5914)) for a bit more background on one of the main, original characters.  
   
**Disclaimer** : All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Joss owns all, I’m just playing in his sandbox.

* * *

 

**Chapter Summary:**

_Spike's a good boi. Everyone says so._

* * *

 

 

__

 

* * *

 

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

_So happy! My hooman runs. I run too. Hooman fast. I fast too.  My hooman strong. I strong too. My hooman brave. I brave too. She my fren. I her fren too._

_Crunchy rabbits here. They bite. I bite too. They taste like chicken. Or chicken taste like rabbit? I must remember to think this when I am eating. I maybe can tell._

_Is that squirrel? Sniff, sniff, sniff …  Squirrel! Look, fren! Squirrel! Hooman does not mind squirrels. I dislike them. They chatter too loud, warn rabbits. They are rude and evil. They also crunch, but hooman says no crunch evil squirrels._

_Wait! I see one! Rabbit! Rabbit! Look, hooman! Rabbit! She sees it! It is a race to the rabbit! I let her win sometimes. But I like how they crunch._

_Leap! Crash! Roll! Fun! Rabbit growls. I growls too. Crunch!  Crunchy rabbits are yummy._

_My hooman is surrounded by sunshine – even in night. She shines bright, golden, fierce. My hooman is called Buffy. She is the Slayer._

_I am Spike. Spike is a good boi. Everyone says so._

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“Spike!” Buffy yelled as the puppy tussled around on the soft, damp grass with the fledge, both of them growling and snapping fangs at each other. “I can’t stake them with you shaking them like that! How many times have I told you?”

Buffy sighed and folded her arms over her chest impatiently, stake in hand, waiting for her sidekick to shake the vampire senseless. She could hear bones breaking beneath the dog’s strong jaws, and blood flew everywhere. She took a step back to avoid the ‘splash zone’.

“Damn it, I’ve told you about that, too!” she groaned as the dog gave one more violent shake of his head and the vampire’s neck snapped with a sickening crunch.

Spike looked up at her, standing with his front feet atop the moaning, immobile vampire’s stomach, proud and victorious. The puppy’s tongue lolled out, mouth hanging open in a rather gruesome doggie-grin with a slimy mix of blood and slobber dripping from his teeth.

Buffy sighed again, rolling her eyes as she stepped forward and planted her stake in the vamp’s heart.

Spike’s feet fell through the dust to the soft cemetery grass below and he huffed out a satisfied little chuffing sound, his long tail wagging wildly.

“Don’t you dare!” Buffy cautioned, raising a warning finger at the dog.

Spike took a deep breath and suddenly shook, starting with his nose and ending with his tail, flinging blood and slobber droplets in all directions.

“Damn it, Spike! What did I just say?” she screeched, jumping back and raising her hands in defense, but not quite fast enough to avoid the shower.

As his long hair settled back down straight and now clean of blood, he stepped forward and bumped into Buffy’s thigh with a solid shoulder. The Slayer nearly toppled over as his hundred pounds of muscle knocked her sideways, his long tail beating out a happy rhythm against the nearby tombstone.

Buffy huffed indignantly, but couldn’t help but smile, patting her hand down on the puppy’s enormous, furry head. “Good boy, Spike. You did good … messy, but good,” she told him, grimacing at the vampire blood that coated her hand from his self-cleaning mechanism.

“You still have some things to learn, like walk ten feet away before shaking,” she told him, tucking her stake away.

“ _Whoof_!” Spike replied, licking her hand to clean the mess up.

“Yeah, dog drool? Not really an improvement,” she moaned as she turned and began walking again, the large dog falling into step beside her.

“Listen, we’re going to see Angel now,” she told him.

Spike growled, a low, barely-there rumble in his chest.

“I know, I know … you don’t like him, but I do, and I’m in charge … so far,” she added, looking suspiciously at the demon-hunting dog at her side.

Who knew that that little thing Spike – vampire-Spike, that is – had given her mother could turn into this in just a few short months? The vet said he wasn’t done growing, either. Based the snowshoes he had for feet, Dumbo ears, and a head that could double as an aircraft carrier, Buffy didn’t doubt it.  Her mother had, of course, directly caused this outcome by proclaiming that she thought ‘Little Spike’ was a small breed, a lap dog, when vampire-Spike had first bestowed the puppy on her.

Spike had outgrown the little bed and collar they’d gotten for him within just a few weeks. They’d been through four beds now, finally just buying the largest one the store had. He hadn’t quite outgrown that one … yet.  Next, she supposed, they’d just have to give him his own room.

Spike turned out to be a cross between a lion and a woolly mammoth in the form of a dog. He had a black mask on his face surrounding soft brown eyes and a powerful muzzle. Around his neck and down his chest was a thick mane, much like a lion’s, in a mixture of black, tan, and a glossy, coppery red. The rest of his coat was mostly the copper color with highlights of black and tan in the undercoat, all long, thick, and luxurious. Luckily, he seemed to be Scotchgarded; almost every type of demon goo, including blood, rolled off him like grape juice from a duck’s back. That was a really good thing, since it took almost a whole bottle of shampoo just to lather him up.

Everyone loved Spike. He was a gentle giant around her friends or even strangers, especially kids, but get him around a vampire or a demon and all bets were off. Until Angel had returned from hell, the only issue had been Oz. Spike wasn’t crazy about the werewolf, but Buffy had finally gotten him to stop growling every time he saw Willow’s boyfriend, at least.

Spike had turned into the best slaying buddy Buffy had ever had. His biggest problem was that he tended to get sidetracked by squirrels, and he’d sometimes knock her down in his eagerness to reach the vampires first. In other words, he was easily distracted, was a cheater, and really enjoyed a good fight – not unlike a certain peroxide-blond vampire she’d allied with last year. Add that to the fact that he didn’t like Angel one little bit, and Buffy thought that vampire-Spike, wherever he was, was having a really good laugh at her expense.

“I forbid you from peeing on Angel’s leg,” Buffy continued, giving Spike a stern look. “Or chewing up his shoes,” she continued. “Or starting a fight.”

Spike huffed out an annoyed breath.

“Yeah, yeah … live with it,” she advised as they turned into the long drive of the mansion on Crawford Street.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Angel was still quite weak after his return from the hell dimension Buffy had been forced to send him to six months ago. She’d had no choice, of course, it was the only way to keep the whole world from being sucked into Acathla’s hell dimension. She’d been stopping by with blood for him, doing all she could to help him recover since his return about a month prior. She’d not told her friends or her Watcher about his miraculous return – yet. The only person who knew was her mom.

Buffy knew how much her friends and Giles would freak out if they knew Angel was back, and she couldn’t blame them; she’d been pretty freaked out about it herself. She had planned on telling them after Homecoming, but Angel asked her not to. He’d asked her to let him get stronger, at least strong enough to defend himself against them in case they decided to do something rash and vengeful. She’d reluctantly agreed with his logic, but it still made her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t like lying to her friends or Giles, but she didn’t want to put Angel in mortal peril, either.

Thank goodness her mom was there for her to talk to about it all, because she was really torn about the whole thing. Buffy’s heart had been shredded and had only just started to heal when Angel had reappeared. It would’ve been easy for her to just fall back in love – more than easy, she’d never really stopped loving him, despite everything. But, after many long, tearful talks with her mom, she’d very purposely kept him at arm’s length. He’d helped her in the past and she felt like he deserved the same in return, but they couldn’t go back to what they had before for more reasons than his gypsy curse.

She couldn’t lie and say it was easy to keep her heart caged, but it was necessary, and, with time, she hoped it would heal and move on, and not simply turn to stone.

As they walked into the garage, she buried her hand in the thick mane of the dog at her side, drawing comfort and support from the big, goofy animal. He had been her rock these last months, her nearly-constant companion, confidant, shoulder to cry on, and light in the darkness. He had kept her heart from calcifying and crumbling into dust.  

Angel was shirtless out in the walled-in garden at his mansion on Crawford Street going through a tai-chi exercise when Buffy and Spike came in from the garage. She signaled for Spike to stay near the fireplace and he stopped, but a low rumbling growl began as Buffy moved closer to the vampire.

“Stop it,” she hissed, turning back to look at the puppy. He subsided for a moment, but resumed as soon as she turned her back on him again.

Buffy rolled her eyes and continued walking, pausing at the open garden doors to watch the vampire in the silver moonlight. _‘Bad, Buffy, bad!’_ she realized a bit too late as a tingling warmth began between her thighs and started to spread through her lower belly as she watched Angel’s lean, lithe body shift and sway in the gentle light.

_‘Stupid hormones! Stupid body!’_ she chastised herself silently. Despite knowing she should, Buffy found it impossible to turn away. As if unaware she was even there, the vampire continued to turn and sway, his muscles lengthening and contracting in the most mesmerizing way across his strong arms and torso. She could remember how those arms felt around her. She could remember how this body felt against hers. She could remember his lips and his hands and …

Spike whined softly and clasped her hand gently between his sharp teeth, urging her away from Angel and back into the mansion. Buffy jumped slightly, looking down, surprised – she hadn’t even heard him come up next to her. She gave her friend a grateful smile and followed him back inside to wait. He always seemed to know when she needed a hug or a sloppy, gross kiss, and he was always willing to provide them.

When Angel came in from the garden a couple of minutes later, still shirtless, Buffy was sitting on one end of the couch with the big dog sitting next to her on the floor, his head across her lap. She had her whole hand buried in Spike’s thick ruff, enjoying the soft feel of his coat and the soothing ‘ _swish, swish, swish’_ of his long tail across the hard floor.

The rumbling growl returned to Spike’s throat as Angel sat down on the other end of the couch from Buffy.

“You look better,” Buffy said, ignoring the growling of the dog leaning against her legs.

“I’m feeling better,” Angel agreed, giving Spike a narrow-eyed glare.

“He’s not going to bite you,” Buffy assured the vampire.

Spike and Angel both huffed at almost the same time in almost the same tone, both seeming to refute her. Buffy rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know why that dog doesn’t like me,” Angel continued, not taking his eyes off the large, coppery shadow that never seemed to leave Buffy’s side.

“He doesn’t like any vampires. It’s not personal,” Buffy explained for the umpteenth time.

Again, Spike and Angel both huffed at almost the same time in almost the same tone. Again, both seeming to refute her. Again, Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Maybe if he wasn’t named ‘Spike’ he wouldn’t be so obstinate,” Angel continued with a sneer. “Of all the names in the world, I still don’t understand why you let your mom name him that.”

Buffy sighed. “We’ve been over this,” she said irritably. “Spike helped her out … helped me out. I’d think you, of all people, would appreciate that.”

“Helped her by sticking her with a massive, overly-aggressive beast who’ll end up eating you out of house and home one day or, possibly, just kill you both in your sleep,” he grumbled.

Spike lifted his head up off Buffy’s lap and cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at Angel. He huffed out an indignant breath at the brown rabbit, watching for any opportunity to do more without breaking the rules.

The fluttering desire that had started in Buffy’s nether regions earlier ended abruptly. “He’s not ‘overly-aggressive’! He’s the best slaying buddy I’ve ever had,” she defended.  “Again, I’d think you’d be happy that I have someone watching my back,” Buffy continued.

Angel rolled his eyes and sighed. “I am, Buffy, it’s just his name … _Spike_. You don’t know Spike like I do. You might as well name the dog ‘ _Evil’_ or _‘Vile’_.”

“Well, your grand-childe may be evil, but at least I knew what to expect from him. He’s a ‘what you see is what you get’ vampire. I have to say, that was a refreshing change at the time,” she pointed out. “All he wanted to do was kill me, not turn me into his latest Mad Magazine cover art.”

“Buffy … I … that wasn’t me,” Angel sighed, dropping his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.

Spike dropped his head back onto Buffy’s lap and nuzzled her hand with his nose, urging her to pet him again. She obliged with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Angel … I shouldn’t have …” Buffy shook her head as her voice trailed off. This whole Angel / Angelus thing was one of the things she and her mom had talked about over many a cup of hot cocoa and cartons of ice cream. It was still one of those things that confounded and confused Buffy; it was one of those things she was still trying to work through.

“I brought you some blood,” she said, changing the subject, gesturing toward the brown bag on the table.

“Thanks,” Angel replied, looking up at the bag.

“I’m going to have to tell them soon,” Buffy said, digging her fingers into Spike’s soft coat for strength. “The longer I keep this secret, the worse it will be.”

“Soon. Give me another week, at least,” he requested. “I’m stronger, but still not full strength.”

Buffy looked over at him. “Another week, that’s it. We don’t know when you’ll be at full strength.”

“Okay,” he agreed, looking down at his hands. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied stiffly, ruffling Spike’s fur as she began to stand up.

“You’re going so soon?” Angel asked, jumping up to his feet with her.

“Yeah, SATs are coming up and Giles is expecting us for a slay/study double feature,” she explained as she turned to go back out through the garage.

Angel grabbed her upper arm, stopping her, and drawing a louder warning growl from Spike. She turned back around and met his too-close eyes, feeling the too-closeness of him shiver down her spine. “I miss you, Buffy. I … just … I miss talking to you and …” he leaned closer, lowering his mouth towards hers.

Spike’s growl turned into a snarl as Buffy pressed the flat of her hand on Angel’s hard, bare chest. She could feel sparks pulse and tingle against her palm and flutter all the way to her heart, which skipped and skittered in her chest. Just one kiss. One kiss couldn’t hurt, right? Just to feel his arms around her again, feel his strength and his love …

Buffy clenched her jaw and pushed him back, forcing a sad smile onto her lips. “I know,” she said softly. “But that bridge has sailed.”

Angel grimaced at the mixed metaphor, opening his mouth, then closing it again, barely stopping himself from correcting her. He took a deep, unneeded breath and released the hold he had of her arm. “Sorry.”

“Me too,” Buffy whispered as she turned and headed for the door, her hand clasped in the long ruff of the dog that had been her anchor over the long days and nights since she’d killed her love and shattered her soul.

Her heart ached as they walked away, but at least it hadn’t yet turned to stone. She could tell because stone could never hurt this much.

As they stepped out of the garage, she heard Angel cursing furiously from the mansion. “Spike! You fucking ass! My shoes! You pissed in my fucking shoes! I swear to God…!!”

Buffy bit her lip and looked down at the dog reproachfully. He tilted his head, looking back up at her smugly. _Spike is a good boi?_

Buffy shook her head and rolled her eyes, but snorted out a laugh. “I’m starting to think Angel’s right, we should’ve just named you ‘Evil’,” she chastised as they kept walking.

Spike bumped against her, knocking her stride off to one side. “Yeah, yeah,” she groused good-naturedly. “I love you, too, ya big galoot.”


	2. Band Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike, the vampire that is, rolls into town to find it turned upside down by Band Candy, full of teenage adults, with his namesake firmly on The Slayer's payroll.

The woman waved her arms wildly, trying to flag down the unmistakable car as it zoomed past, calling, “Spike!! Hey!! Is that you? Spike! Wait up!”

Spike slammed on the brakes and pulled the DeSoto over to the curb as the very person he was looking for flagged him down in the center of town.

“Spike!” Joyce called breathlessly as she ran down the sidewalk toward the big black car and the vampire now leaning against it waiting for her. “Spike! It’s really you! Far out!!” she gushed, coming near.

“Joyce, just the person—” he began before he was engulfed in a full-body hug and a wet kiss that would’ve made Don Juan blush.

Spike’s bottom lip stretched out, caught between her teeth, then finally slipped free as he pressed her back firmly by the shoulders.  “Uhh…” he stammered, licking the sweet warmth from his lips as he got her to arm’s length. “Well, happy t’ know someone in this town’s glad to see me,” he said, recovering.

He released one hand from her shoulder and reached into his mouth, pulling out a bazooka-sized wad of pink bubble gum. He arched a brow at her. “Reckon this is yours, luv?”

“Yeah, cool,” she confirmed, taking it from him and popping it back into her mouth with a sly grin. “I don’t mind sharing, though.”

He tilted his head, studying her a moment. “Never expected a reception like that in Sunnyhell.”

Joyce bit her bottom lip and tried to lean back in for another snog, but he easily kept her pressed away. “That’s a very fetching wrap you’ve got … new, is it?” he tried, hoping it would distract her from her unexpected mission to devour his lips.

Joyce blushed demurely, batting her lashes, and fingered the feathers on the knee-length, sleeveless vest she wore. “Thanks. Ripper got it for me. It’s cool, isn’t it? Very Juice Newton, right?”

“Ripper?” Spike began to question as a man ran up behind her, panting and flushed from the exertion. Spike did a double-take of the man who was dressed in a torn and dirty white t-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve, and faded jeans.

“Spike, this is Ripper, Ripper, Spike,” Joyce introduced them, keeping her eyes on the dreamy vampire and his oh-so-blue eyes.

“Watcher?” Spike questioned, his brows furrowing, his hands dropping from Joyce’s shoulders as the ‘danger’ seemed to have passed.

“That’s right! And just what d’ya think yer doing with my girl?” Giles challenged, stepping up to intersperse himself between Joyce and Spike. “Get your hands off or I’ll take them off.”

Spike snorted. “Will ya, then?” he asked, a burble of a laugh forming as he spoke.

Ripper’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Don’t think I can?”

Spike smirked. “Love t’ see ya try.”

Without further warning Giles took a swing at the vampire, making Joyce jump back in surprise. Spike caught the man’s fist easily, stopping the swing dead, several inches from his face. “Now then, what were ya saying?” the blond asked casually.

Ripper lifted a knee, aiming at Spike’s jewels, but the vampire shoved him back by the hold he had on his fist before the knee could come close to landing. The Watcher was propelled backwards, stumbling, his arms windmilling trying to catch his balance. His back slammed into a nearby building, and he fell to his ass on the sidewalk.

Spike turned to look at the gape-mouthed woman still standing nearby. “Uhh … Joyce, luv. Mind tellin’ a bloke just what the bloody hell is going on ‘round here?”

“Nuthin’,” Joyce replied causally, flipping her hair back off her shoulder and exposing her neck. She slinked back up to him, thrusting her chest forward and pressing her boobs against his arm, trying to make it seem accidental. “Just hangin’ out. Ya wanna hang out? We could … go to my place.”

“With ‘im?!” Giles demanded angrily, scrambling back to his feet and crossing the distance between them in a rush of jealous fury. “Just ‘ad a go, we did! Thought we were gonna find the chocolate and then have a bit more fun.”

Spike turned to face the approaching man, arching a brow. “Must not be doin’ it right, mate … looks like the lady’s still in need.”

Giles pulled a gun out from the back waistband of his jeans and aimed it straight at Spike’s head. “Say that again, you little pillock!”

Joyce jumped back as Spike moved with vampire speed, lifting Giles’ arm and pointing the gun into the air just as it fired. Spike clicked his tongue reprovingly, pulling the gun from Ripper’s hand. “There’s your problem, mate. Too fast on the draw, you are. Gotta take yer time, make it last … make it good for her,” he advised, crushing and twisting the gun into useless scrap and throwing the gun down the nearby sewer drain.

“Ooooo!” Joyce purred, moving against the vampire again, pressing her body close to his side. “You’re so strong and brave,” she cooed to Spike, her mouth hovering next to his ear, her breath warm and inviting. “Maybe you could show me …”

Spike arched a brow at her and took a step to the side, trying to pull his arm from her grasp without resorting to breaking fingers. The Slayer’s mum was deceptively strong. “Reckon the Slayer’s got enough reasons t’ stake me without adding another, luv.”

“That’s right, the Slayer!” Giles exclaimed, as if just remembering Buffy. He moved nearer, getting right in Spike’s face.  “Get away from her or I’ll have Buffy dust you, good and proper this time!”

Spike smirked. “That before or after she beats ya senseless for shagging her mum?”

“She’s _my_ bloody Slayer! Does as I say, doesn’t she?” Ripper contended, jabbing a finger against Spike’s chest.

Spike raised his brows, looking down at the Watcher’s finger as it poked against his sternum, considering options: Break his finger. Break his arm. Break his neck.

“She’s my daughter, she does as I say!” Joyce argued, still clinging to Spike’s arm, pressing against him protectively. “And I say Spike stays.”

“She’s my Slayer! She does as I say! And I say he goes!” Ripper countered.

Joyce glowered at him, turning to face him more directly, letting go of Spike for the moment. “My daughter trumps your Slayer!” she told him angrily.

“Bollocks!” Ripper exclaimed, leaning forward right in her face. “He’s a vampire!” he asserted, jabbing that finger toward Spike again but not quite touching. “That means Slayer trumps daughter!”

“Oooo, I love it when you get all manly and forceful,” Joyce purred, leaning in the last inch and devouring Giles’ mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. Leaning back against the car, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one as he waited for them to come up for air. He looked around the downtown street noticing that just about everyone was acting like the two in front of him. That tingle of magic he’d felt earlier when he’d rolled into town suddenly made a bit more sense – in fact, it felt vaguely familiar, a bit like the time Halloween went all topsy-turvy.

This could be interesting. Would the Slayer be just as helpless this time as the last? Too bad he didn’t have time to find out. He had a mission, a plan, and he was on a timeline.

“Right then, enough snoggin’,” Spike ordered around the fag dangling from his lips, yanking the two apart. “Where’s the little mutt?” he asked Joyce.

Joyce looked back at him, suddenly remembering his dreamy eyes and those cheekbones and, oh, his lips were just scrumptious! They tasted so good, like whiskey and tobacco, so soft and supple. Her eyes slid down his body, taking everything in, and settled beneath his belt. Buffy had been right … nothing ‘little’ there.

“My eyes are up here, luv,” Spike informed her, shaking her arm to get her attention away from the front of his jeans.

Joyce’s eyes darted back up to meet his, a flush rising in her cheeks. “I’m sorry … what did you say?”

“The mutt that I gave ya last year? Where’s it at?” he asked again.

“Oh.” She waved a hand casually. “With Buffy, as usual.”

“And Buffy is where?” Spike prodded.

Joyce shrugged.

Spike looked at Giles, brows raised.

“Dunno, but when I find her, she’s gonna dust you—” Giles began.

“Yeah, yeah, good and proper,” Spike finished sarcastically.  “Bloody brilliant,” he groaned with a sigh. “Tell ya what, let’s find ‘er, shall we?” Spike suggested, dragging them both toward the back door of the DeSoto on the passenger side, next to the sidewalk.

“There aren’t any rats in there, are there?” Joyce asked, looking inside warily. “That was soooo grody!”

“All clear,” Spike assured her, opening the door. “In ya go.”

“Maybe Ripper can drive and we can have a little … _alone time_ in the back,” Joyce suggested, leaning into Spike temptingly.

“Sorry, pet. Nobody drives my car but me,” Spike declined, pressing her toward the open door.

Joyce got in with a pout and Spike shoved Ripper after her. “Watch it, bleach boy! When I find Buffy…”

“Sing me a new one, Watcher, that one’s gotten old already,” Spike sighed, waiting for Giles to get in the car before slamming the door closed.

He sighed and looked around, thinking. If something was afoot in Sunnyhell, then the Slayer would be where the afooting was going on, which would mean where that tingle of magic was coming from. He turned on the spot and got the general direction before stalking around the car and getting in behind the wheel. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the slurping and snogging sounds coming from the backseat.

“Oi! Mind the leather!” Spike called back over the seat.

“Sod off and put on some proper mood music,” Ripper retorted, the slurping sounds stopping momentarily, but starting right back up.

Spike snorted. “Got ‘[God Save the Queen](https://youtu.be/RvMxqcgBhWQ)’,” he offered.

Giles’ head popped up over the seat, his eyes curious. “The Sex Pistols?” he asked.

“’Course, who else?” Spike replied.

“Yeah, brilliant that!” Giles agreed, nodding. “Turn it up,” he demanded before his head disappeared behind the seatback again.

“The Slayer’s gonna slice off your balls,” Spike told Giles as he started the car and popped the cassette into the player, turning the volume up.

_God save the queen_  
The fascist regime  
  


“She’s my Slayer, she does as she’s told!” came the terse reply over the music as Joyce sighed and the springs in the backseat began to squeak out an ever-quickening rhythm.

_They made you a moron  
A potential H bomb_

Spike snorted. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, mate,” he muttered, pulling out and heading toward the source of the tingling magic.

_God save the queen  
She's not a human being_

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“Let’s go, you two,” Spike ordered, opening the back door and hauling the two writhing ‘teens’ out of the backseat of his car.

“Hey! Hands off m’ girl!” Ripper demanded as Spike manhandled them out of the car.

“I’m not your girl!” Joyce insisted, leaning into Spike, and gazing into his dreamy, blue eyes. “I’m my own girl … I go where I want and do whatever I want with whoever I want,” she breathed, running her hand up from the vampire’s belt to rest on his chest. “Ya get me?”

“I get ya, luv,” Spike replied, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and removing her hand from his chest. “And if the Slayer catches me getting’ ya, I’ll be wishin’ for dust, I reckon.”

“Where are we going?” Joyce asked as Spike pulled her through a crowd of people gathered around a loading dock at a warehouse.

“Lookin’ for the Slayer and the mutt,” Spike told her, glancing back over his shoulder to see if Giles was following – he was. Sniffing after the Slayer’s mum like a love-sick schoolboy in short pants.

“Oh! Chocolate! I want chocolate!” Joyce exclaimed, realizing what the people around the loading dock were scrambling after. She reached down and started picking up chocolate bars with one hand as Spike pulled her along with the other.

“Let’s go, pet,” Spike urged her as he climbed up on some boxes to reach the high loading area of the warehouse, helping her up after him. “C’mon, Watcher, try to keep up.”

“I can keep up with the likes o’ you, _vampire_!” Ripper sneered, clambering up the boxes behind them while unwrapping a chocolate bar at the same time.

“Don’t make me regret savin’ you,” Spike warned, shooting him a glower.

“You save me!? When did _you_ save _me_?!” Giles demanded, taking another bite of the chocolate.

Spike’s brows shot up as he stopped and spun back around to face the man. “Didn’t the Slayer tell ya? Had a deal, we did. You lived, Dru and I walked. Ya think you would’ve gotten outta that mess alive if it’d just been up to Angelus?”

“That’s a load of bollocks! Just making it up, trying to keep me from havin’ Buffy dust you,” Ripper contended.

Joyce shook her head. “It’s true. I heard it.”

“Nobody asked you, did they?” Ripper snarled at her.

“Screw you!” Joyce yelled at him, stepping toward him.

“No, screw you!” Ripper yelled back, leaning in and poking a finger against her chest.

“Think you’ve both had enough screwing for a bit,” Spike moaned, pulling Joyce away from the Watcher and heading deeper into the warehouse.

“Look at all the chocolate!” Joyce exclaimed in awe, her eyes wide as she ran her hands over box after box of chocolate bars.

Spike looked from the boxes lining the walls to the bars both of them continued eating, and his eyes widened. “Magic chocolate, eh? That’s gotta mean the Slayer’s ripe for the pickin’. This will be bloody delicious.”

“Oo! Oo! I know him!” Giles exclaimed, jumping up and down and pointing to a man down one of the aisles. “Ethan bloody Rayne! C’mon! Let’s get ‘im!” he urged Spike, tugging on the vampire’s arm.

“Not your soddin’ Slayer!” Spike reminded him.

“Chicken, are you?” Giles taunted, walking around in a circle flapping his arms like wings and clucking like a chicken. “Buffy could take him. She’s not a little nancy boy like you.”

“Me? Afraid? Of that little ponce?” Spike questioned, watching the man walk around a corner in the warehouse and disappear from view.

“Then come on!” Ripper urged, tugging harder on Spike’s arm. “Dinner’s served!”

Joyce joined in, pulling on his other arm. “I know you could take him. You’re so strong and manly,” she cooed.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Spike groaned as he started after them, both Giles and Joyce breaking into a run. Spike sighed and passed them effortlessly, following the fresh scent, his duster billowing out behind as he ran. He found the man in no time and stopped a few feet away, listening as Ethan spoke into a phone.

“Yeah, I've been out there. Town's wide open. You guys can go anytime. I’m sure Lurconis doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Ethan was saying.

From back in the direction Spike had come from, he heard a familiar voice exclaim, “MOTHER! GILES! What are you doing!? Stop! I said, ‘ _stop’_! Oh, for God’s sake, stop eating the chocolate and stop … stop … _that_!!!”

The man on the phone looked up at the sound and saw Spike, who hooked his thumbs over his belt buckle and began sauntering toward Ethan just as he hung up the phone. “Are you one of Trick’s guys? I believe they’re heading for the hospital to pick up the goods, then on to the ceremony.”

Spike smiled, but before he could answer he found himself planted face-first on the dirty, cement floor being turned into a martini – shaken, not stirred. He growled and flung an elbow back at the attacker and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch of bone and whimper of pain. He began to do it again but the creature bit down even harder, growling and wrenching at the back of his neck. The vampire growled back even louder and rolled, trying to dislodge the attacker. It didn’t work. The demon’s teeth just clenched down tighter, drawing a roar of pain and fury from the vampire, and sending blood spurting out over the grimy floor.

“Get the other one!” a female voice called and suddenly the pressure on Spike’s neck was gone. Before he could recover, he found himself flipped over onto his back roughly, a stake pressed against his chest.

He blinked up, shaking his head, trying to clear the stars that had started blanketing his vision. Somewhere nearby he heard the demon growling and the sound of a thud and a crack of cranium against concrete.

“I should’ve known!” Buffy barked at him. “What are you doing here? What’s going on with the chocolate!? Who else is involved!? Talk!”

“Hello, cutie,” he rasped out dazedly, reaching for his neck to try and triage the damage and slow the bleeding.

“Don’t ‘ _hello, cutie’_ me. You really shouldn’t have come back,” Buffy warned, pressing harder on the stake.

“Whoa, Goldilocks! Dust me and ya won’t have any intel … and I’ve got it!” Spike bargained, his senses returning in a panicked rush. “White flag! Truce!”

“You know, you’re awfully good at calling truces when you’re losing,” Buffy pointed out. “Start talking!”

Spike was still trying to staunch the bleeding in his neck. He pulled out a long, needle-like tooth from one of the wounds. “Bloody hell! Why dontcha do somethin’ about that sodding shark demon? Attacked me for no reason!”

“Spike, are you alright?” Buffy asked, not taking her eyes off the master vampire she had pinned down between her thighs.

“Didn’t I just say I wasn’t? Have ya gone soft in the melon!?” the vampire exclaimed. “Dontcha see this soddin’ tooth! Was in my neck, wasn’t it?! Bleedin’ out here, I am.”

Buffy smiled down at him sweetly. “I wasn’t talking to you. Spike? Bring me what you’ve got.”

The vampire’s brows pulled together, his face contorting in confusion as he heard the growling shark-demon getting closer, clearly dragging something across the floor.

Buffy’s smile widened into a feral grin. “If you move, I will dust you,” she warned the vampire, looking over to see her dog dragging an unconscious man toward her by one foot. She sighed when Dog-Spike stopped next to her with his prisoner. “Ethan Rayne … figures. And out cold. Damn it,” she groaned, looking back down at Vampire-Spike. “I guess this is your lucky day. Talk.”

“What the bloody fuck is that?” the vampire asked, watching the huge dog warily.

“Spike, meet Spike,” Buffy said cordially, as if introducing two people at a holiday mixer.

The vampire just stared at the huge animal, gobsmacked for a moment. “But … I mean … ya got two dogs now?” he asked, looking back up at the Slayer.

“Noooo. I mean, I know he _looks_ like two dogs, but… it’s just one, trust me.”

“But, the wee mutt …” Spike began, still looking confused.

“Grew up,” Buffy said flatly. “Now, talk.”

Spike looked back at the dog. “Bloody hell…” he breathed, his mind reeling. It looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place exactly where he’d seen one before. This thing was a soddin’ mountain of fur and fangs. He wasn’t sure it would even fit in his car now, let alone in the floorboard where it’d been when he’d found it. “What the hell ya been feedin’ that thing?” he wondered, still trying to reconcile the little puppy to this monstrosity before him.

“Vampires,” she informed him casually. “Now talk or you’ll be next,” Buffy demanded, pressing just a bit harder with the stake.

Spike hissed in pain, his attention being drawn back to her. “Can’t seem t’ remember anything … stake pressin’ into my chest is cutting off circulation to my brain,” he contended.

“You don’t have any circulation … and I’m not entirely convinced about the brain, either,” Buffy retorted before looking over to her dog. “Spike, hold,” she said with a tilt of her head. In the next moment the dog’s mouth was around Spike’s throat. His drool dripped in hot, slimy globs, coating the vampire’s skin and mixing with the blood to form a light-pink puddle on the floor.   _Crunchy rabbit. But my hooman says no crunch. Why no crunch? Tasty white rabbit._

Buffy pulled the stake away from the vampire’s chest. “Does that help?”

“Not. Bloody. Amused,” Spike ground out, reaching up to wrap his hands around the beast’s neck.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Buffy warned, standing up off him.

Dog-Spike’s fangs dug deeper into Vampire-Spike’s neck, on the verge of creating a few new ventilation holes in his jugular. A long, resonate growl trembled through the air from the dog’s chest, vibrating the vampire’s entire body.

“Dust him! Yes! You’re my Slayer and I say dust him!” Ripper demanded as he and Joyce came around the corner, both in the process of readjusting their clothing.

Buffy looked up in time to catch the last of the adjustments, her eyes flying open wide. “I thought I told you two to STOP! Oh, my God … I am so gonna need therapy and drugs. So many drugs.”

“Dust the twat!” Ripper continued, coming closer.

“No! Don’t hurt him! He’s too pretty to hurt!” Joyce argued, running up and tugging on Spike’s arm, trying to pull him away from the dog.

“Oh, please God, don’t tell me…” Buffy began, her eyes scrunching closed, her fingers massaging the traumatic migraine forming between her brows.

“Ya got it wrong, Slayer!” Spike defended, feeling like his neck was the hapless rope in a game of tug-of-war between the Slayer’s mum and her demon dog.

“Release!” Buffy told Spike and he let go of the hold on the vampire’s neck, but continued to growl as he let Joyce drag the vampire a couple of feet away. 

“You too, Mother! Let go of the pretty vampire!” Buffy demanded as she stepped up and wrapped her hand around said vampire’s neck. She lifted the blond up to his feet and slammed him back against a block wall, jarring his still-questionable brain around in his skull like an overwrought ping-pong ball.

“What. Did. You. Do?” the Slayer snarled in his face.

“Nothin’! I bloody swear! Joyce, luv! Tell her! Was the Watcher! Warned him, I did! Told ‘im you’d chop his balls off and feed ‘em to him!” Spike swore, his hands wrapping around Buffy’s wrist and forearm in an attempt to keep her from ripping his head off.

“You can’t trust a dirty, rotten vampire!! Dust him!” Ripper demanded again, making Joyce move in protectively and beg for Spike’s release, all the while Spike was trying to tell Buffy that he didn’t do anything. In the next moment everyone was talking at once, making Buffy’s migraine throb and expand as daggers danced a lively jig in her frontal lobe.

“ _WHOOOF_!” Spike interjected, a sound loud enough to make the unconscious man on the floor groan, and all the others stop talking.

“I agree,” Buffy said in the moment of stunned silence that followed. “Everyone just shut up.”

She turned to her mother. “Did you …” Buffy gritted her teeth, trying to stop the images in her mind from making her retch. “Did Spike … touch you? Show me your neck!”

“No! Didn’t bite ‘er, either!” Spike continued to object, drawing a warning glare from Buffy.

Joyce pouted and shrugged coquettishly, pulling her hair back from her neck. “Not yet… but, there’s still time. You can’t dust him, Buffy. I forbid it. I’m your mother, and I forbid it.”

“Told ya,” Spike spat at her, glowering blue laser beams at the Slayer, who loosened her grip on his throat a fraction.

“Dust him!” Giles insisted again.

“Sod off, Watcher!” Spike shot back.

“Giles! I’ll deal with you later! Everyone shut up! The next person who talks is going to get seriously dead!” Buffy threatened, looking back at her prisoner. “What do you know about this? Who’s behind it? Who else is in on it?”

Spike pursed his lips together, drawing his cheeks in, and raised his brows, his eyes going wide.

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “ _Now_ you decide to listen to me? Simon says you can talk, and I advise you to make it believable,” Buffy told the vampire.

“Right. See, here’s the thing. I just came to town to have a chat with yer mum ‘bout the mutt. Just got ‘ere t’night and I’m bloody well not staying,” Spike explained. “Found these two having a bit of a snog…”

“Skip that part,” Buffy cut in. “What do you know about this place and the chocolate?”

“Not involved, am I?” Spike insisted.

“Truce ends in two seconds unless you start giving me something useful,” Buffy informed him, drawing the stake back out from the back of her jeans.

“Yes!” Giles exclaimed, jumping up in the air and pumping a fist. “Dust! Dust! Dust!”

“Giiiless,” Buffy drawled warningly, not taking her eyes off the vampire.

“Right … errr, heard that bloke on the phone with someone,” Spike began, pointing to the prone human with the dog standing guard over him. “Said the town’s wide open and they shouldn’t keep Lurconis waitin’. Then he thought I was one o’ Trick’s guys and said they were heading for the hospital and then to the ceremony.”

“Who’s Trick?” Buffy asked.

“Dunno.”

“Who’s Lurconis?”

Spike shrugged. “Demon. One of the older ones, you know with the sacrifices and favors and ceremony bollocks.”

“Where do I find it? And what are they getting at the hospital?” Buffy continued.

Spike furrowed his brows. “Guess would be babies … demons have a right fondness for virgins and little bits – blood’s sweeter, ya know? And the hearts taste like brandied peaches, only crunchier–”

“TMI,” Buffy stopped him. She looked around and found the phone on the wall. “If you try anything, Spike will rip your lungs out and then I’ll feed them to you,” Buffy warned the vampire as she released him and headed to the phone.

“ _Pfftt_ ,” Spike snorted, straightening his clothes. He glowered down at the dog with a flash of fang and golden eyes.

Spike, the dog, sitting by his human prisoner, bared his own impressive fangs in a snarl, glowering back at the vampire with a low rumbling growl.

“If not fer me you wouldn’t have this posh life with the Slayer, best remember that, Fido,” Spike informed him, hooking his thumbs over his belt smugly.

The big puppy huffed out a breath and the growling stopped, but he continued to watch the white rabbit suspiciously.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the two posturing Spikes as she picked up the phone and dialed the school library; Willow picked up on the second ring.

“Okay,” Buffy began. “The demon’s name is Lurconis, and we think it eats babies. The bad guys will be getting them from the hospital. I want you guys to go over there and guard the babies. I’ll send Spike to help …”

“Oi! Not a white hat!” Spike objected. “Not goin’ to the hospital and guarding any soddin’ babies.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, still talking into the phone, “Yeah … yeah, he’s still got the Assistance Dog id on, it won’t be a problem. Meet him at the emergency room entrance … yeah … okay. Bye.”

Buffy hung up and raised her brows at the vampire.

“Oh, right … that’s alright, then,” Spike agreed, sniffing.

Buffy squatted down on her heels next to the dog, which actually made the dog taller than her. “I need you to meet Willow at the hospital. You remember that place, right? Smells like …”

“Human blood, death, and antiseptics,” the vampire provided. “Kinda sickly sweet.”

Buffy looked up at him, then back at the dog. “You know what place it is?”

“Whoof!” he replied, standing up and wagging his tail madly.

“Okay, you go there and I’m gonna see if I can find this demon,” Buffy told the dog.

Spike-the-dog began to whine, pressing his body against hers and nearly knocking her over. “It’ll be okay,” she assured him, rubbing his wide flanks. “I’ll take the vampire with me and toss him into the line of fire if it gets dicey.”

“Oi! Not soddin’ demon fodder,” Spike argued.

“Go on, now. They need you there! Run!” Buffy told the dog who gave the vampire a challenging glare and an ear-splitting bark, before taking off down the long aisle of the warehouse toward the exit.

“Don’t forget to look both ways before crossing the street!” she called after the dog, drawing another, “Whoof,” in reply.

Buffy looked over at Spike. “Okay, where do we find this Lurconis?”

Spike shrugged, picking another needle-like tooth out of his neck with a scowl of annoyance.

“Spike. Where?” Buffy demanded.

The vampire rolled his eyes. “Where else, Slayer? The sewers.”

“Okay, let’s go!” Buffy called to everyone. Joyce and Ripper started moving to follow her, Spike, however, just stood still.

“Are you coming?” Buffy asked, turning back.

“Got better things t’ do than mount up with you lot, don’t I?” Spike sniffed.

Buffy furrowed her brows in suspicion. “Like what?”

“Like nothing that’s any of your business,” Spike retorted, lifting his chin in defiance.

“Spike, I don’t have time for this!”

“Then run along! Tick-tock, Slayer! Gotta keep the world safe for puppies and Christmas and whatnot,” Spike urged, waving a hand for her to go on.

“Argh! You are the most annoying vampire I’ve ever met!” Buffy growled, taking a few steps back toward him. “Don’t eat anyone or I swear you’ll be dusty before dawn.”

“Not even him?” Spike wondered, tilting his head back toward Ethan.

“Yes! Eat him! Drain him dry! Make it hurt!” Ripper enthused from behind Buffy.

Buffy rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, not even him.”

“Spoilsport!” Giles grumbled.

“Fine. Just got a bit o’ business with a mutual acquaintance of ours,” Spike told her. He pointedly sniffed the air in her direction and arched a brow at her. “Think you might’ve seen ‘im recently, eh?”

Buffy paled and looked back at Giles to see if he was listening, but he and Joyce were grabbing more chocolate from one of the boxes. She moved closer to Spike and hissed in a low voice, “Leave him alone! Leave _me_ alone! Go away!”

“Or you’ll dust me good and proper like ya did Angel?” Spike whispered back to her. He looked back at Giles and Joyce then met her eyes again. “They don’t know, do they?”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Town,” Buffy snarled, pulling her stake out again.

“I’m too pretty t’ dust,” he asserted smugly, bobbing his brows at her. “Your mum said so.”

“Don’t push me!” Buffy threatened, holding the stake up toward his chest.

“Smells like Peaches has already been pushing you to the limit … or is that sweet aroma for me?” Spike smirked. “Think I’m hot, do ya? Got ya all wet and ready, eh?”

“You’re a pig, Spike! Get out before I make you into pretty dust bunnies!”

Spike held his hands up in surrender. “Leaving this very night,” he assured her, taking a step back.  “But ya didn’t answer the question.”

“And don’t come back,” Buffy added with a glower before turning on her heel. She slapped the chocolate from the adults’ hands and began dragging them with her out of the warehouse.

“You still didn’t answer the question!” Spike called after her. He smirked as she shot him a dirty look over her shoulder before turning a corner and disappearing.  

He took a deep breath and let it out, formulating his plan as he started for the exit. He did have a mutual acquaintance of theirs to see, but it wasn’t Angel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the start of this new story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks also to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> And thanks to Paganbaby for the amazing banner!
> 
> More to come soon!


	3. Guardian of the Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: Foiled Again! Spike-the-vampire's plan goes awry. Okay, maybe not that big of a spoiler.

Buffy, Giles, and Joyce returned to Chez Summers after finding and defeating the demon, Lurconis, in the sewers. They’d first stopped by the hospital where they found all the babies safe in their cribs, and the nurses trying to figure out where the thick layer of dust that covered the hallway floor had come from. Clearly, Spike, Willow, and Xander had been successful in their mission, as well.  

At the house, they were greeted by a sight that made Buffy blink her eyes a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. Willow and Xander were sitting on the porch swing, each holding bags of ice to various places – Xander on the back of his head and his nose, and Willow to her hand and neck. On the floor in front of them was Spike … and Spike. The former – dog-asauras-Spike – standing over the latter – a prone, tied-up, and bleeding vampire-Spike.

“What the hell?” the Slayer demanded, hurrying ahead of Giles and Joyce and up onto the porch.

Everyone started talking at once – loudly and emphatically.

“STOP!” she demanded, holding her hands up like a school crossing-guard. “Willow,” she selected when everyone abruptly stopped talking.

“Well, we stopped the vampires from taking the babies, ya know?” Willow began, drawing a huff of breath from the dog. Willow rolled her eyes. “ _Spike_ stopped the vampires from taking the babies,” she corrected. “But we helped!” she contended, frowning at the dog.

“Good. And?” Buffy prompted.

“And, then, we told Spike we should go find you and help you, right? So, off he goes without us! When we finally catch up to him outside, we find Spike trying to shove Spike into the back of his car! He’d knocked him out and was dog-napping him!”

“Wasn’t like that!” Spike objected from the floor.

“Yes, it was!” Willow protested, adjusting the ice pack on her neck. “So, we run up and Xander tried to stake him, but Spike heard us coming and he blocked it and he punched Xander in the nose and he fell and banged his head on the curb, and then I was screaming but no one in this town ever pays any attention to screaming anymore! It’s just like background noise. And, so, Spike wrapped his fingers around my neck to stop me—”

“You were making my soddin’ ears bleed with that caterwauling,” Spike defended.

“And I punched him,” Willow continued, talking excitedly over the vampire. “And that really hurt and I think I broke my hand and … ow! And then, thank God, Spike – our Spike – woke up and he attacked the other Spike and it was all craziness!” Willow explained excitedly, waving her hands around and flinging water droplets from the ice packs in all directions.

“So, finally our Spike got the other Spike down and I bonked him on the head with a street brick that was laying there and … and Xander started to wake up, but he didn’t want to go back into the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” Xander interjected, wincing as he moved the ice pack off his bruised and bloodied nose.

“And, so I thought maybe you’d want to find out what was up, ya know? Cos, something of the weird variety is totally going on! So, we dragged the vampire into the car and Spike sat on him and Xander got in and I had to drive it back here cos Xan was still woozy, and that was soooo wrong! Cos, it’s like the size of a battleship and I’ve never driven a battleship before. I might’ve hit a parked car and jumped a few curbs and maybe knocked over the street sign on the corner.”

“Best not’ve damaged my car!” Spike growled from beneath the dog.

“It’s not that great of a car!” Willow defended, scowling at him, before looking back at Buffy. “And, so, we tied him up and … and … got ice and waited for you.”

Buffy looked over at the dog. “Did you get Spike some ice?”

“Not a single bloody cube,” Spike grumbled.

“You’re a poop-head and poop-heads don’t get ice!” Willow asserted.

“I meant _my_ Spike,” Buffy clarified, walking over to the dog to check for bumps.

“Oh! No, cos we couldn’t find where he got hit or any bumps or anything,” Willow said.

Buffy ran her hands over the puppy’s big head. He winced a little in one spot, but, as with Willow, Buffy didn’t feel a bump. “Okay, boy, I’ve got it now. Take a break,” she told him. The big dog huffed out a sigh, gave Spike one more flash of fang, and heaved himself to his feet.

“Bloody hell,” Spike complained as the dog walked over him, stepping on his stomach with all four feet as he passed, seemingly on purpose.

“I thought you were leaving tonight,” Buffy began, hoisting the vampire up to his feet roughly and pointedly banging his head against the wall beside the door.

“Oi!” he complained, shaking his head. “Was tryin’ to when Tweedledee and Tweedledum stopped me,” Spike defended.

“With MY DOG?” she demanded, glaring daggers at him.

“Yeah, well, funny thing, that. Turns out, I need Fido back,” Spike explained.

“Um, Buffy,” Willow interrupted. “You might want to … ummm …”

Buffy looked at her friend who waved a hand toward the yard and the two ‘authority figures’ making out, nearly to second base, on the front walk. “Holy hormones, Batman! Will you two stop!?” Buffy howled in frustration, sailing back down off the porch to pull them apart. “I am going to need so much therapy!” she declared again.

A chocolate bar fell out from under Joyce’s shirt as the two adults were jerked apart. “Damn it! I thought I told you to get rid of the chocolate!” Buffy insisted.

“You’re no fun – you’re like, dullsville,” Joyce contended, reaching for the bar, but Buffy grabbed it first. “You freak out over the smallest thing.”

“Oh, well, pardon me for freaking out over you eating cursed candy! Maybe you should go play in traffic or take more rides from strange vampires,” Buffy scolded. “Spike, could you do a sniff-search and check for more of this?” she asked, holding the candy bar out toward the porch.

Both the dog and the vampire stepped forward. They both stopped and looked at each other. The blond straightened, sniffing disdainfully. “Not the Slayer’s lackey, am I?”

The dog huffed out an impatient breath. He pointedly looked at the vampire’s bound hands, then his bleeding neck, then back up to meet Spike’s gaze before sneezing just as disdainfully.

“Sod off,” Spike snarled at the dog, taking a step back.

Buffy rolled her eyes, holding the candy out to the dog as he came forward, down the steps to the front walk. Spike-the-dog began snuffling around Joyce and Giles, finding more candy on both of them.

“Oh, have rights, we do! This is unconstitutional, is what it is!” Giles complained as the dog pointed out hidden contraband in his sock.

“Narc,” Joyce accused Spike disdainfully as he nudged her pocket, showing Buffy where more was hidden.

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes, confiscating all the chocolate the dog pointed out. “I think it’s time for you to go home, Giles, and don’t eat any more of that damn chocolate,” Buffy ordered when she was sure they were ‘clean’.

“Not leavin’ Joyce here with the likes o’ him!” Giles objected, looking up at the vampire on the porch.

“Giles, go home or I’ll give you detention for the rest of eternity,” Buffy threatened.

“Like t’ see you try,” he grumbled.

Buffy arched a brow at him. “You think I can’t?”

Giles gave her one last, long glower before turning around and walking away. He began muttering about how she was his Slayer and should do as she’s told.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Xander, Willow – are you guys feeling well enough to go with him? Maybe check his apartment and make sure it’s clear?” she asked, looking at her friends.

They nodded and stood up. Xander swayed a little, and Willow steadied him. Their eyes met for a brief but meaningful moment, and then guiltily looked away. An exchange that wasn’t missed by the vampire.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can go—” Buffy offered, but was waved off by Xander.

“It’s all good,” he assured her as they began to follow Giles out to the sidewalk. “You have enough to deal with here.”

Buffy sighed, looking at her mother, who had now taken up station next to the vampire on the porch and was talking to him in a voice too low for Buffy to hear.

“Mother,” Buffy groaned. “Let go of the pretty vampire … NOW.”

Joyce stuck her tongue out at her daughter, but reluctantly released Spike’s arm, though she didn’t really move away more than a couple of inches.

With one last reassuring look from Willow and Xander, Buffy headed back up on the porch and marched the two blondes into the house, the big dog following behind.

She shoved Spike down on the sofa and sent her mother in to make some coffee in hopes that it would sober her up from the cursed chocolate.

“Talk,” she said to Spike, sitting in front of him on the coffee table when she heard her mother busy in the kitchen.

“Need the dog back,” he explained. “Seems he’s some special guardian dog …” Spike started trying to dig in the front pocket of his jeans for something, but was having a hard time because of his hands being tied.

Buffy huffed and pulled his hands away, slipping her own down into his pocket to get whatever it was.

“If you’re looking for ‘not-so-little Spike’, he’s a bit to the left, luv,” Spike smirked, thrusting his hips forward suggestively.

“Pig.” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him as she pulled a paper out of his pocket.

She unfolded it and read aloud, “You have something of mine. I have something of yours. Bring the Guardian of the Twilight back to me, and I will return your sire to you. You have seven days to comply before she will be returned only as dust.”

Joyce came in with a tray and three mugs, making Buffy look up. “That’s not coffee.”

“It’s cocoa … I thought it might calm you down. You’re, like, totally spazzing,” Joyce explained, setting the tray on the coffee table next to Buffy.

“ _Spazzing_?” Buffy repeated sarcastically. “You didn’t make it out of chocolate bars, did you?” the Slayer asked suspiciously, eyeing the mugs.

“No, of course not,” Joyce sighed. “You took them all. But that’s a far-out idea.”

“Smells lovely. Thank you, Joyce,” Spike purred, reaching for one of the mugs with his bound hands, but stopping. “Too bad I can’t ‘ave one, innit?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and produced a blade, from where Spike had no idea. He gasped as it came toward him, flinching back, but relaxed a moment later when it sliced through the ropes.

“Happy now?” she groused at him as the knife disappeared just as quickly and mysteriously as it had appeared.

“Don’t suppose ya have any of those little marshmallows?” he asked Joyce hopefully.

“Oh, you know, I think I do,” she beamed at him, turning to go back into the kitchen.

Buffy looked over at Spike, picking up one of the mugs. “There’s an address right here on the note. Hello! Why don’t you just go get her? You are a vampire, after all! Big bad! Evil! Grr-argh! Creature of the night.”

“Exactly! I’m a vampire. It’s a house … can’t get in, can I? Think I’d not have tried that before coming back here?” he explained.

Buffy frowned. “And what makes you think Spike is this Twilight thing the person wants. I’m sure you’ve taken plenty more stuff that might be what they want.”

Spike arched a brow at her and looked over at the huge dog who was currently doing his impersonation of a shag rug on the cool tile near the door. “You’re seriously gonna ask me that?”

Joyce returned with the marshmallows. She graciously covered the top of Spike’s mug with them before sitting down on the couch next to him. “Thanks, pet,” he rumbled, giving her a charming smile.

“Cut the vampire thrall shit,” Buffy warned. “She doesn’t need any encouragement.”

Spike’s brows rose. “Just bein’ polite,” he countered.

“Well, stop it. It’s creepy,” Buffy insisted.

“Can see what Angel sees in you now – bloody impossible t’ please you,” Spike grumped, picking up his cocoa and taking a sip.

“No, not impossible. All you had to do was stay gone. As in, not come back, not be here, not be drinking cocoa in my living room with my mother trying to play footsies with you,” Buffy defended. “Mother! Move away from the vampire,” Buffy ordered. “And take your feet with you.”

Joyce groaned and rolled her eyes, but slid a little away from Spike.

“So, ya gonna give me the dog, or what?” Spike asked.

Buffy huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Or what,” she answered. “I’m not giving you my dog to trade for your slutty ho of a sire!”

“Buffy!” Joyce chastised. “There’s no need to be rude to our guest.”

“Guest?!” Buffy retorted sarcastically. “He’s not a guest! He’s the total opposite of a guest! He’s a …a ... un-guest!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “If ya don’t give me the dog, then I’ll either find a chance to take it again or tell the bloke where t’ find it,” Spike threatened. “No telling what he’ll do to get it back. Some kinda special dog, innit? Might take casualties, your Watcher, or your mum. Would hate to see that happen.”

“Oh, right, I know you would,” Buffy retorted acerbically.

“Spike’s right,” Joyce interjected. “We don’t know who these people are. They could be very dangerous. You know, Spike’s very smart. You should listen to him,” she added, with a coy glance at said vampire over the rim of her mug.

Spike gave Joyce an appreciative look and a nod. “Right, so, just give me the mutt and I’ll be off – outta Sunnyhell for good.”

“Or, I dust you and you can’t tell anyone where the dog is. How about that for an idea?” Buffy countered brightly.

“Buffy,” Joyce chastised again. “Spike did help you with information at the warehouse, didn’t he? And you did get to kill that demon, and the babies were all safe at the hospital. Maybe you could help him somehow.”

Spike looked smug. “Yeah, Slayer, right helpful, I was. Reckon turnabout’s fair play. I wash your back, you wash mine … could make that literal, anytime. Just say the word.”

“How did you get to be such a pig?” Buffy wondered.

“Practice and dedication,” Spike smirked.

“Buffy, why don’t you just help him? Then he’ll be happy, and we’ll keep Spike, and everything will be fine,” Joyce suggested.

“Are you serious right now?” Buffy asked her mother. “You want me to help him get Dru back. Dru … who killed Kendra? No way.”

“That’s, like, ancient history,” Joyce insisted, waving her daughter’s argument off. “I bet Drusilla hasn’t killed any other Slayers since then, has she?”

Spike grinned. “Not a one.”

“See?” Joyce said reasonably. “You could go and explain to the nice kidnappers who you are and show them that Spike has a good home, that he’s well taken care of, has all his shots, and plenty of kibble and ask them if you can’t just keep him … o-or buy him. Then there will be no reason for them to keep Drusilla or come looking for Spike.”

“You’re seriously suggesting that your only daughter should get in a car with a soulless vampire and drive to freaking Wyoming with him to somehow nicely talk the kidnappers into letting his batshit crazy sire go, and drive back with _two_ Slayer-killers and just hope they don’t both decide to, oh, I don’t know, _kill another Slayer_?” Buffy wondered, the words all coming out in a rush of exasperation.

Joyce looked at the vampire. “You wouldn’t hurt my little girl, would you, Spike?”

Spike looked at Buffy, his blue eyes glittering with mischief. “Only if she begs me to,” he purred, curling his tongue against his top teeth suggestively.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Your piggy-ness knows no bounds, does it?” She looked at her mother. “You seriously don’t find any of this disturbing?”

“He’s just teasing, Buffy. Quit being such a prude,” Joyce dismissed it with a roll of her eyes.

“ _Prude_? My _mother_ is calling me a prude?” Buffy gawped.

Joyce clicked her tongue impertinently. “Our Spike will be with you. He’ll keep you safe. It seems like the one option that would give you the most direct control – and we all know how you like to be in control.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped open. “Wow, really?”

“Well, you do,” Joyce defended with a shrug. “This seems like the one way to keep us from constantly looking over our shoulders waiting for someone to show up and try to take Spike. Face the problem directly and solve it … isn’t that in your Slayer creed or something?”

“Slayer creed,” Buffy repeated in a mutter, shaking her head. She set her cocoa back down and rubbed at her eyes tiredly. “I can’t do this right now. I have SATs tomorrow and it’s already tomorrow. I’ll deal with this after that.”

“Just blow them off,” Joyce said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll write you a note.”

“Noooo, then I’d have to study and remember this shit all over again!” Buffy argued. “I’m going to get some sleep. Take the stupid tests, find out what a Twilight Guardian is, and then deal with this after all that is done.

“Spike, out!”

“Haven’t finished my cocoa,” he pointed out.

“Get out of my house,” Buffy ordered, standing up.

“The sun’ll be up in an hour or so,” he continued to argue.

“Your car is parked on the sidewalk,” Buffy pointed out, dragging him to his feet. “Take your cocoa and sleep there and I’ll deal with you later.”

“Maybe I should make sure the car is safe for him,” Joyce suggested, getting up and following them as Buffy pulled him toward the door. The dog heaved his body up with an effort and moved out of their path, watching everything carefully.

“Mother, go to bed,” Buffy ordered, giving her her best ‘Slayer’ glare. “Spike, out,” Buffy continued, opening the door and shoving him out into the pre-dawn morning.

“You know I’ll do what I have to t’ save Dru, Slayer,” he reminded her sternly. “ _Anything_ I have to. Don’t want t’ see your mum hurt, but, if I can’t have the mutt then I can’t be held responsible for what that bloke will do.”

Buffy sighed heavily. “Just let me get through this day and I’ll deal with you tonight. Stay where I can find you.”

“So you can stake me in m’ sleep?” Spike wondered, turning back to look at her from the porch, his mug of cocoa still in hand.

Buffy snorted. “Lock your doors,” she advised before stepping back and slamming the door in his face, clicking the deadbolt loudly.

Buffy turned around and leaned her back against the door, letting her eyes fall closed. The big puppy came over and leaned against her legs, whimpering softly. Buffy knelt down and wrapped her arms around the small horse, burying her face in his thick ruff. “Don’t worry, Spikey, I won’t let anything happen to you or let anyone take you away.”

Spike turned his head and nuzzled her neck comfortingly.

“I know. I love you, too,” Buffy sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the new story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks also to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling! 
> 
> And thanks to Paganbaby for the amazing banner! 
> 
> More to come soon!


	4. Love Me, Love My Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy finds out more about her smart doggie.

Spike jerked awake to the sound of someone knocking on the car window right above his head. “Sod off!” he croaked at them. “Tryin’ t’ sleep here.”

“Spike, it’s Joyce. I thought you might want to come inside,” she offered.

“Appreciate that, luv, but vampires and sunshine not the best combo,” he pointed out, stretching as much has he could in the backseat of the car.

“I have Buffy’s big beach umbrella and a quilt … I didn’t know if you waited for the sun to go behind a cloud, if that would work?”

Spike’s brows furrowed, and he sat up, yawning widely. “Right thoughtful of ya, pet. Did the Slayer send you out?”

“No, she’s still at school. I just … ummm … can we talk?” Joyce asked tentatively. “Preferably not out here in the street?”

Spike yawned again and climbed over to the front seat where he could open the door from the inside, cracking it open just a bit to look out. Joyce jumped, surprised, and shifted the big umbrella over to cover the front door.

“Is this gonna be the kinda talk that’s gonna get me staked?” he wondered, eyeing her warily.

Joyce flushed and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “No … that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.

“Will the umbrella work?” she wondered, looking up at the sun and then back to him, but not quite able to meet his eyes.

Spike shrugged, grabbed his duster, and opened the door more. The danger warning from his demon skittered up and down his spine, but he wasn’t that arsed with it. He’d made longer treks in the sun than this, and without a big, multicolored umbrella either.

Joyce handed him the quilt and he draped it over his head, letting it hang down covering most of his upper body, then took the umbrella from her hand as he stood up. She released it and stepped back as he scrambled up the walk onto the front porch with barely a wisp of smoke. He’d have to get him one o’ these umbrellas. Bloody brilliant, that was.

Joyce closed the car door and came after him, taking the quilt back and preceding him into the house, leaving the big umbrella outside.

“I’ve got some blood for you in the kitchen,” she told him, tossing the quilt down on a chair as she walked toward the back of the house.

Spike’s brows went up as he followed her. “Do ya, then?”

“I mean … it’s pig’s blood, like Angel drinks,” she told him.

Spike scowled. “I’m not Angel,” he growled.

Joyce stopped at the breakfast counter and turned around to face him. “I know. I just thought … I remember Buffy told you not to … _you know_ , so, I thought you might be hungry, and this would be a way to keep from pissing her off any more than we already have.”

Spike arched a brow at her but shrugged. “Alright, then,” he agreed, taking a seat at the counter.

Joyce gave him a small smile and turned around to pour some of the blood into a mug and set it in the microwave.

“So, you know ‘bout Angel, then?” he asked as they waited.

“Yes. He … reappeared out of the blue a few weeks ago,” Joyce confirmed. “He’d been in that Acathla hell dimension for a really long time, I guess. Time moves differently, or something?”

Spike nodded his understanding.

“He was totally out of it for a while – acting really, uh… feral,” she continued. “But, he’s still got his soul. He doesn’t know how he got back here. Buffy guesses the Powers must’ve snatched him back.”

“Typical,” Spike muttered, rolling his eyes. Then, more loudly, “But the Watcher doesn’t know?”

“No one else knows yet. It … it’s been hard on Buffy. She’s trying to do the right thing, helping Angel. But she’s caught in the middle, knowing how her friends will react to his return.”

“Yeah, Angelus always did have a way o’ bringing out the revenge in people,” Spike agreed.

The microwave ‘ _dinged’_ and Joyce removed the mug, stirred it a couple of times and set it on the counter in front of Spike. Spike picked it up and sniffed it, trying not to make a disgusted face. “Swine, eh?” he asked, buying time.

Joyce shrugged. “Buffy gets it at the butcher shop. She told me … she’s been getting it for Angel. Is it warm enough?”

Spike took a tentative sip. _Bloody hell! Tastes like something died in a pig pen and was forgotten a few days before being drained_. “Perfect, pet,” he choked out, setting it back down.

Joyce gave him another tentative smile.

“Something you wanted t’ talk to me about?” Spike prompted.

Joyce cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I, uh, well … I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night.  I was … not myself, clearly.”

Spike shrugged. “Didn’t mind, luv. Kinda nice havin’ a lovely lady on my arm,” he said, trying another sip of the blood. Well, maybe it had only been dead and forgotten in the sun a couple of days.

“Well, that’s kind of you to say, but I know you’ve got a girlfriend, and … I know I’m not, well …” Joyce shrugged, embarrassed.

“Not what, pet? Beautiful, strong, kind, brave, got a head on your shoulders, and … not t’ be too forward, but that kiss wasn’t exactly sisterly. And did see a bit in the mirror with the Watcher. You’ve still got it, anyone who says otherwise is a tosser,” Spike asserted.

Joyce rolled her eyes and a bright hot flush rose up her cheeks. “I hoped you hadn’t seen that,” she admitted, twisting a dishtowel between her hands nervously. “And please don’t tell Buffy about the kiss … or the rest.”

Spike snorted. “Value my balls, don’t I? No worries. It’s our secret.”

Joyce took a deep breath and let it out in a relieved sigh. “I know I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not the type of person vamps like to sink their teeth into. Been living on the Hellmouth for a while and you were actually the first one I ever even saw, in the school, you remember?”

Spike smiled. “I remember. Still got the bump on my head,” he teased, reaching back to touch the back of his head. “Reckon you not having any run-ins with vamps is more about you bein’ the Slayer’s mum than not being a nummy treat. I’d bite you in a heartbeat if not for that,” he assured her with a confident nod.

Joyce snorted. “Well, thank you for that,” she laughed. “But, I still just really wanted to apologize. I don’t want things to be … weird between us.”

“ _Pfft_!” Spike dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “The Slayer’s mum making a vamp a cuppa’ in the kitchen? What could be weird ‘bout that?”

Joyce laughed. “Is it okay? Would you rather have cocoa?”

“It’s … uh, it’s fine,” Spike assured her, forcing himself to take a long swallow. “A bit o’ cocoa wouldn’t go amiss, though.” _Something to get the taste outta my mouth._

“So,” Spike said casually as Joyce turned around to make some cocoa. “Where’s the woolly mammoth t’day?”

“Buffy took him over to stay with Angel for the day,” Joyce revealed, putting on some milk to warm.

“Didn’t trust me, eh?” Spike asked, downing the rest of the blood in one long swallow while Joyce’s back was turned so she couldn’t see the grimace on his face.

“Well, you know Buffy,” she said, turning around. “She’s not the most trusting person in the world.”

Spike shrugged. “Well, probably best to remove the temptation,” he admitted. “So, Angel? He knows what the dog’s name is?” 

Joyce snorted out a short laugh. “Yeah, he knows.”

Spike smirked. “I take it he doesn’t approve. That’s bloody delicious.”

Joyce took Spike’s empty mug and rinsed it out in the sink. “It seems to be a point of contention,” she admitted. “I think that’s one of the things that irks Buffy the most about Angel, to be honest. At least that’s the thing she complains about most. He just doesn’t like the dog … and the feeling’s mutual, it seems.”

Spike arched a brow at that. “Trouble in paradise, then?”

Joyce finished making the cocoa and set the two mugs on the counter. “Well, you know the saying, ‘love me, love my dog,’” she said as she turned and grabbed the bag of small marshmallows from the cupboard.

Spike snorted. “So, what yer saying is, to get the Slayer on my side, need to get the mutt on my side,” he observed as she brought the marshmallows over.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” she admitted, adding marshmallows to her own cup before offering them to Spike.

Spike took them absently, nodding to himself, thinking how to win over the dog. The old enemy of my enemy strategy, perhaps?

“So, tell me more ‘bout my namesake,” he prompted Joyce as he added the marshmallows to his cocoa.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“I cannot believe this freaking day!” Buffy exclaimed as she came into the house later, Spike trotting along beside her. “The most fun part were the SATs! Angel practically had a cow when I showed up with Spike this morning. Thank God he couldn’t smell that stupid vampire on me, or I don’t know what I would’ve done. Giles couldn’t even look me in the eye – which, honestly, was fine, because weird much? Willow and Xander both looked like hell, and Willow’s already freaking over not doing well on the tests. Then, when I got back to Angel’s—"

Buffy stopped abruptly, finally noticing the two people on the couch watching TV. “What. The—”

“Buffy! Language,” her mother warned.

“He—ck!? What is he doing in here? How did he get in here?” she demanded as the dog began growling low in his chest, still standing next to her.

“I asked him to come in,” Joyce explained.

“Oh, God, Mom, please don’t tell me …” Buffy cringed.

“It’s nothing like that!” Joyce said immediately, standing up from her place on the couch. “We had some cocoa, and I gave him some blood—"

“Mother! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

“Not _my_ blood! Pig’s blood, like you do for Angel. And we’ve been watching ‘Passions’. I had a few recorded on the VCR and we’ve been catching up. Spike’s a fan too. It’s so nice to have someone to talk to about it,” Joyce explained.

“It’s not even dark out! How did you get in here?” she asked, glaring at Spike.

Spike shrugged, still sitting on the couch. “Umbrella and a lovely quilt yer mum provided. Barely a breath o’ smoke. So, you were sayin’ ‘bout Angel and the pooch?”

Buffy shook her head, trying to process all this, her train of thought not only derailed but utterly demolished. “What?”

“Were talkin’ ‘bout your day? Angel and Fido?” Spike reminded her, dropping his gaze to the still-growling dog.

Buffy sighed and dropped down into the chair opposite them as Joyce reclaimed her seat on the couch, not too close to Spike, Buffy noted thankfully. “Spike somehow knocked all of Angel’s clothes down off their hangers and rolled around on them. Angel said they were all covered with fur, which is weird cos Spike hardly ever sheds, like, only in the spring. Then, while Angel was trying to fix that, Spike went into the other room and knocked over a whole bookcase full of stupid old books that are apparently ‘priceless’,” Buffy related, using air quotes around the last word. “And, to top it off, he peed in Angel’s shoes … again.”

Spike burst out laughing. “Brilliant job, mate!” he told the dog. “Buy ya a burger for that, eh? Ya like burgers, do you?”

The dog stopped growling and tilted his head to the side at the word ‘burger’, tilting it to the other side when it was said a second time.

“Don’t encourage him,” Buffy sighed, reaching over to pat the dog on the head. “Of course, by the time I got there, the two of them were pretty much at each other’s throats. Angel hadn’t gotten any sleep all day, and he threatened to lock Spike up in the basement if I ever left him there again.”

“Angel’s a wanker … a bad, bad man! Needs his arse kicked, if ya ask me,” Spike piped up, nodding in solidarity at the big dog.

The puppy huffed out a breath of agreement, and slid down to lay at Buffy’s feet.

Buffy sighed again, rubbing at her tired eyes. “Giles did find some stuff out about Guardians of the Twilight, though,” she revealed. “He just gave it all to me, said he didn’t want to come over for some strange reason,” Buffy said sarcastically, looking pointedly at her mother.

Joyce dropped her gaze and a flush rose up her cheeks – that seemed to be happening a lot today. “Probably for the best.”

“Anyway,” Buffy continued, pulling out a stack of papers from her book bag. “I guess I know why he’s so good at hunting down demons and vampires now,” she said. She looked down at the papers and read a summary that Giles had done. “’Guardians of the Twilight are a rare breed of mystically-endowed canines which have been bred and raised by the Romani for generations. Their express purpose is the protection of the population from vampires and werewolves that have been commonplace in the Transylvanian region of Romania for most of recorded history.’”

Spike snapped his fingers, sitting forward suddenly. “That’s where I’ve seen one before!” he interjected, brightening. “Those gypsies that cursed Angel, they had one with ‘em. Took all of us to ki—” Spike stopped abruptly as his namesake lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at him, the soft brown turning steely.  “Errrr … I mean, run us off, it did. Bloody impressive. Didn’t stand a chance against it, we didn’t.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “So, apparently, all this cool stuff I thought I’d taught him was just … instinct.”

“Like pissing in Angel’s shoes,” Spike agreed, smirking. “Probably can smell the bloody curse on ‘im.”

Buffy opened her mouth to tell Spike how stupid that was, but stopped and shook her head. “Actually … that could be.”

“Either that or he’s just a brilliant judge of character,” Spike added, giving the dog another nod of solidarity.

Buffy rolled her eyes again. “Did Angel see one of these dogs back then?” she asked Spike.

Spike shrugged. “Dunno, he wasn’t with us when Darla set us on the group that had one.”

Buffy nodded and looked back down at the papers. “So … I don’t know what to do. I’d really like you to just go away, but you won’t, will you?” she asked Spike.

“Sorry, luv. Know better than that, you do,” Spike told her, shaking his head.

“What if this dog belonged to someone from Miss Calendar’s family?” Buffy posited. “What if they know I’m the reason the curse was broken, and it’s my fault Angelus killed her? Maybe that’s why they had the dog here, to hunt me down. I mean, I’m not worried about myself, but these are humans … they could just walk up and shoot you in broad daylight, Mom, or take you hostage. They managed to take Dru, they must be pretty strong.”

“Buffy,” Joyce soothed. “We’ve talked about this and it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. If anyone should’ve known, it was Angel. He’d been cursed for how many decades and never bothered to even find out the rules or anything about how the curse worked? I mean, honestly. How brainless can someone be?”

Spike snorted a laugh but changed it to a cough at Buffy’s disapproving look. “Right,” he said, swallowing the last of his amusement. “Seems t’ me you got one choice if ya wanna keep Fido: come with me and help me get Dru back. You just drag the wankers that took her outta the house, and I’ll make sure they never bother either of us again.”

“I can’t condone you killing humans! I certainly won’t help you! God, how hard is that for you to understand?” Buffy demanded. “I’m the Slayer … not the … the Murderer!” 

“Maybe not from your perspective,” Spike pointed out. “Reckon plenty o’ demons would disagree.”

“Do not start with me,” Buffy warned.

Spike held up his hands in surrender. “You got a better plan, then?”

Buffy rubbed her eyes again, dropping her head into her hands as she thought. Finally, she asked, “How did these guys find Dru? How did they even know you had the dog? How did they track you down?”

“Errr, well, funny story that,” Spike began. “Appears that Dru was harping on to anyone who would listen ‘bout her ‘special dolly’ with the floppy ears and furry tail. Bitchin’ about me taking it and giving it to the sunshine when it should be in the darkness or whatnot.

“One of the blokes she told this story to was a bloody Chaos Demon, which, if you don’t know, besides being an ugly bastard with antlers and snot dripping from every pore, makes the improbable probable just by existing. The closer ya get to it, the more likely somethin’ chaotic, something practically impossible, will happen.

“Apparently, it’s practically impossible to kill the buggers, too. Cos I bloody tried. Ended up slipping on a bitty hedgehog that was running around on the sidewalk covered in strawberry jam as I was stalking up behind the bastard and fell _up_ onto its antlers. Got impaled in places I _never_ want t’ be impaled,” he revealed with a shudder.

“A hedgehog covered in … strawberry jam?” Buffy raised her brows, half in amusement, half in invitation for him to expound on this story.

Spike waved a hand, ignoring her look, wiping the memory away before continuing, “So, sure enough, the impossible happened. Dru’s story was overheard by a bounty hunter who just happened to know ‘bout this pup that’d been stolen and … well, you can guess the rest.” Spike shrugged.

“Which brings me back to the solution of just dusting you. Problem solved. Link to me broken,” Buffy suggested.

“’Cept Dru knows who I gave the mutt to, doesn’t she? Might take a bit for ‘em to suss it out, but she’s not as mad as you might think. Give you up in a heartbeat if they just ask the right question, she will,” Spike pointed out.

“Buffy, maybe if you just explain that you’re the Slayer and ask them nicely … or offer to buy Spike from them,” Joyce suggested again.

“Oh, ‘ _ask them nicely’_ … like that ever works,” Buffy groused.

“Well, not with that attitude it won’t,” Joyce pointed out. “Can it really hurt to try? I mean, apparently, they’re going to find out who you are one way or another and if they have to come looking, they might not be so understanding.”

“And if I show up there with a vampire sidekick, you think that’ll win them over?”

“Tell ‘em I’m a white hat. Vampire with a soul or whatnot, yeah?”

Buffy barked out a laugh. “You? With a soul! As if!” she snorted, shaking her head.

“Hey! Could happen … never know!” Spike sniffed. “Could get stabbed in the back by a soddin’ Chaos Demon and the whole bloody world could go pear-shaped.”

Buffy blew out an exasperated breath and shook her head, thinking. She could dust Spike and hope the kidnappers dusted Dru before she said anything that made actual sense. Or she could dust Spike and go to the kidnapper’s place, break in and dust Dru. That had possibilities, but what if she got caught or recognized? Or what if they weren’t keeping Dru there? That actually was a real possibility.

“Buffy,” her mom began. “Spike was helpful with the whole chocolate thing, and he’s been a perfect gentleman even when I was … not being a perfect lady. I think the whole ‘vampire with a soul’ thing could work. If asking nicely doesn’t work, then I’m sure, between the two of you, you can come up with another viable, non-lethal plan to keep Spike and rescue Drusilla.”

Buffy looked over at the vampire, still shaking her head. She was gonna regret this. She already regretted it and she hadn’t even agreed yet.

“I promise t’ be properly broody and mind-numbingly dull,” Spike offered, but the smirk on his face was anything but.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “No killing anyone, no drinking human blood, pig’s blood only. No attacking humans, no … no … anything remotely … vampire-ish!”

“Scout’s honor,” Spike swore, holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout’s pledge, his thumb holding his pinky down.

“Why do I not believe you were ever a Boy Scout?” Buffy asked.

Spike shrugged, smirking. “Might’ve eaten one once.”

“I am sooo regretting this already,” the Slayer groaned.

* * *

 

The road trip starts next. If you want a quick preview of the first of the road trip chapters, it will be posted tomorrow (November 29, 2018) on [Seasonal Spuffy's Live Journal Page](https://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/). Their challenge for this fall is 'road trip'.  It will get posted here on Friday or Saturday. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! The road trip starts next. 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> And thanks to Paganbaby for the amazing banner!
> 
> More to come soon!


	5. Best Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road trip begins. The two Spikes find some common ground.

* * *

 

“What the bloody hell are ya doing, Slayer?” Spike asked as he came out of the house after sundown with yet another of Buffy’s ‘overnight’ bags. He was convinced this one had weapons in it, based on the weight and the tell-tale ‘clank’ every time he moved.  
  
“Keeping myself from puking,” she replied as she ran the paint scraper over the windshield, removing another strip of black paint from it.  
  
“Thought that was why ya made me clean out the soddin’ car. I need that on there! Vampire, remember?” he contended, setting the bag down near the open trunk and walking around to the passenger side where she was working.  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m not riding in a car I can’t see out of, unless you want me carsick and puking all over you,” she explained.  
  
“Anyone tell you what a royal pain in the arse you are?” Spike huffed, hands on hips as he watched her remove more of his ‘sunblock’.  
  
“To my face? None that lived t’ tell about it. Anyone tell you what a big baby you are?” she wondered.  
  
“None that lived t’ tell about it,” he countered. “Can only travel at night now, ya know that, yeah?” he pointed out.  
  
“Oooor, I could drive, and you could hunker down in the back – better yet, you could ride in the trunk,” she offered brightly.  
  
“No one drives my car but me!” he asserted.  
  
“Willow drove it,” Buffy reminded him as she finished scraping of the last bits of paint she’d missed from the windshield.  
  
“Don’t bloody remind me,” he sighed, looking from the long scrape along the front quarter-panel then up to the now-prone street sign at the end of the block.  
  
“Don’t be such a baby,” she advised, turning to look at him. “We’ll just travel at night and sleep in the day. It’s only a couple of days, right?”  
  
“A couple there, a couple back,” he corrected. “Plus, dunno if Dru is actually in that house or being kept elsewhere. Could be gone a week.”  
  
“A week!?” Buffy exclaimed, looking horror-struck. “I need to pack more clothes!”  
  
Spike grabbed her arm as she started past him. “Don’t have room for any more soddin’ clothes, Slayer. The trunk’s full of your bleedin’ clothes! And the backseat’ll be full of your hound and that cooler of blood you’ve so graciously provided. Bloody hell, Dru has trunks o’ dolls and enough velvet t’ start a Parisian brothel and doesn’t take up half the room you do!”  
  
Buffy pulled free of his grip and walked around to the back of the car, noting that, with the final suitcase he’d brought out, it would probably take vampire and Slayer strength combined to get the enormous trunk to close.  
  
“Did you get the snacks?” she asked then, looking through the various duffels and suitcases in the trunk.  “They were in a bag in the kitchen.”  
  
“What do I look like, your soddin’ bellboy?” Spike grumbled.  
  
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. It goes in the front, with me,” she informed him with a saccharine smile as she started scraping paint off the back window, too.  
  
“Don’t tell me, Fido gets carsick as well,” Spike griped as he turned and headed back into the house, shoulders slumped in defeat.

 

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Sitting by the door, Spike-the-dog growled at the vampire when he came back into the house to retrieve the snacks, baring fangs and throwing in a menacing snarl for good measure.  
  
The vampire stopped in the foyer and looked down at the demon-hunter in exasperation, his hands going to his hips. “Look, mate, I’m playin’ nice, just following orders here, yeah? Slayer says t’ get the bag, I’m getting the soddin’ bag, aren’t I?”  
  
The dog’s growl deepened, lowering to a sound that would barely register to a human, but sent a warning tingle down the vampire’s spine.  
  
“Not scared of you,” Spike informed the dog, letting his demon rise and returning the low, rumbling growl.  
  
The dog stood up and stepped forward toward the vampire, lips drawn back from his fangs, drool glistening, his dangerous, snarling growl vibrating the air.  
  
The vampire matched it, taking a step forward and leaning down until the two growling males were within inches of each other, both projecting ‘danger’ warnings to the other.  
  
The dog’s eyes flashed silver-blue, like lightning in a dark sky, and the vampire smirked, letting his growl fade as he stood back up straight and hooked his thumbs over his belt buckle. “Got a bit o’ demon in ya, eh? Bloody brilliant that. Don’t want anything t’ happen to your girl, do ya? Can respect that, mate. I just want to get my girl back, as well. Make ya a deal, then – I won’t let anything happen to your girl; you don’t let anything happen t’ mine.  
  
“Whaddya say?” Spike asked, still in game-face as he reached out his right hand to shake on it.  
  
The big dog narrowed his eyes, more sparks of silver-blue dancing in their depths, seeming to consider.  His gaze never left the golden glare of the demon before him, boring into them as if the Guardian could see inside the vampire.  
  
Spike felt power radiate from the dog, sweeping over him like a wave of electricity, prickling his skin. He stood his ground, unflinching, his hand still extended, saffron eyes unwavering as he stared down the big, mystical animal.  
  
Finally, the dog huffed out a breath, letting the growl die. He sat back on his haunches and raised his right paw for a shake.  
  
“Brilliant!” Spike beamed, letting his human face surface as he took the dog’s snowshoe-sized paw and shook it heartily. “We’re gonna get on fine, Fido. Just bloody fine. Best mates!”  
  
The dog growled again, that flash of blue showing in his brown eyes.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine … not Fido … Clifford, then?”  
  
The dog shook his head vigorously, rattling his tags.  
  
Spike sighed. “Can’t call ya Spike, it’s just too weird, mate. Scooby-Doo? Toto? Hellhound? Cerberus? Cujo?”  
  
Spike barked sharply and stood up, wagging his tail happily.  
  
The vampire’s brows lifted. “You seen that movie? Hilarious, it was.”  
  
“ _Whoof_!” Spike agreed, his mouth dropping open into a doggie-grin.  
  
“Ya do know the dog dies at the end o’ that, yeah? The chit wins?” Spike reminded him.  
  
The dog sneezed, then let his jaw drop open again, brown eyes meeting blue, panting lightly.  
  
The vampire nodded knowingly. “I’d die for m’ girl, too,” he admitted, ruffling the dog’s floppy ears. “Yeah, we’re gonna get on brilliantly.”

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“Buffy! What’s going on?!?” Angel demanded, emerging from around the side of her house just as she was finishing her de-painting of Spike’s windows.  
  
Buffy spun around in shock, hiding the paint-scraper behind her back, her face flushing neon-pink even in the darkness. “I … what? Nothing! Things of no … are going on,” she stammered guiltily, looking and feeling very much like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar … and crumbs all over their face.  
  
The big vampire’s brows went up suspiciously.  
  
Buffy shook herself, regrouping, and rebooted back to her factory setting: she went on the offense. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the mansion, out of sight!” she hissed, looking around to make sure none of her friends had materialized as well.  
  
“I was feeling better, thought I’d come see you and apologize for being angry with the dog earlier,” he explained. “What are you doing with Spike’s car?”  
  
“I … uh … well, you see …”  
  
“Going on a romantic getaway, we are,” Spike answered from behind Angel as he came out of the house with not one, but two more bags – the snacks and another he’d found in her room that he’d missed earlier.  
  
“Spike! Buffy! What the hell?” Angel demanded, looking from the vampire to the Slayer in turn, confusion freezing him in place.  
  
Buffy gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes. “It’s just a mission,” she explained.  
  
“ _With Spike_?” Angel demanded, glowering at her. “What is it, a  _suicide mission_?”  
  
“Didn’t she tell ya, Peaches?” Spike asked bumping past his grandsire to stand next to Buffy, making Angel take a step to keep his balance. Spike draped an arm over her shoulders casually, smirking. “I’m all soul-having now … white-hat, jumpin’ in to save the world.”  
  
Buffy elbowed him in the ribs, drawing a ‘ _umph’_  of pain, and stepped away from the blond, glaring daggers at him.  
  
“You are not!” Angel asserted petulantly, narrowing his eyes at the blond.  
  
Spike shrugged blithely and put one of the bags on top of the others in the trunk. “No, I’m not, but still …” He spied a swath of fabric through the not-quite-closed zipper on the bag. He causally pulled out the bit of pink, frilly lace and held it up, displaying a pair of Buffy’s panties. “Someone’s gotta keep the Slayer happy, eh? Since clearly you aren’t the vampire for the job.”  
  
Buffy snatched the lace from his hand and punched Spike in the nose. “You’re a pig, Spike!” she declared as he grabbed his nose and stumbled back a step. Buffy whirled around to face Angel. “It’s a long story, but it’s just a mission. I didn’t tell you because I knew …”  
  
“You knew I wouldn’t let you go off with  _Spike_?” Angel finished, scowling angrily, his eyes darting between her and his grand-childe, unsure which one he wanted to throttle more.  
  
“ _Let her_ , is it? Gonna take that, pet? Who’s the bloody Slayer here, anyway?” Spike asked as he put his nose back in place, wincing.  
  
“Shut up!” Buffy hissed over her shoulder at the blond before turning back to face Angel. “What do you mean ‘let me’? Since when do I need  _your_  permission to go on a mission?” she demanded, waving the panties around as she spoke before realizing what she was doing and stuffing them into her pocket.  “I’m the Slayer – I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions about missions!”  
  
Spike snorted from behind her, drawing another angry glare from the Slayer over her shoulder.

“Buffy, it’s  _Spike_ ,” Angel reminded her, spitting the name like posion from his lips. “You can’t seriously think going anywhere with him is a good idea!”

“Oh, so, you’re questioning my judgement now? How about your judgement? Out in public, at my house, no less, where anyone could just show up at any time and stake you.”

“Like me, for instance,” Spike provided.

“I’m getting stronger, I’m not completely defenseless—”  
  
Buffy stepped forward and pushed on Angel’s shoulder making him stumble backwards. His heel caught on the curb, and he fell flat on his back onto the sidewalk. “Yeah, tell me another one,” she droned, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring down at him.  
  
“Ooo! Want a stake, luv? Reckon there’s one in this bag ‘ere,” Spike offered brightly.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes, ignoring the annoying blond. “Go home, Angel, before someone sees you. I’ll be back in a few days. You’ve got plenty of blood to last,” she told him.  
  
He reached a hand toward her and she pulled him back to his feet. “I’ll go with you, then,” he asserted, shooting Spike a look meant to assert his dominance over the younger vampire.

“Sorry, mate, you’re not invited,” Spike piped up haughtily, ignoring the ‘do as I say’ vibe rolling off his grand-sire.

Spike had felt that tingle of dominance plenty of times over the two decades he and Dru lived with Darla and Angelus when he’d first been turned. He’d become a master of brushing it off and doing as he pleased, heedless of the consequences. At the moment, Angel clearly wasn’t in any shape to deliver any consequences, and Spike was pretty sure he wouldn’t anyway, not with the Slayer standing right here. The younger vampire had an overwhelming desire to ‘cock a snook’ at Angel, thumb on nose and fingers spread wide, while chanting, ‘ _Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah’_.

Spike instead took the high road and settled for a smug, “No room for a big lummox like you. The carriage is full.”

Angel’s glower darkened. Spike just smirked, tucking his thumbs over his belt buckle and squaring his shoulders confidently.  
  
Buffy sighed, rolling her eyes at all the posturing going on. “I’ll be fine. You need to stay here, stay out of sight and get stronger. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”  
  
“Buffy…” Angel began, changing tact’s, his voice pleading. “You need someone to watch your back.”  
  
“Angel. Don’t. We’re bringing Spike … my Spike. He’ll watch my back. Anyway, do you really want to ride for days in a car with two Spikes who hate your guts?” she asked, arching a brow.  
  
Angel rolled his eyes. “You were gonna go off and not even tell me?” he asked, changing his strategy again, sounding hurt and worried, trying to guilt her into taking him.

“I left you a note … it’s in your room,” she told him.  
  
“Let me guess, it doesn’t say anything about Spike, does it?” Angel asked, shooting another glare over Buffy’s head at the smug blond standing by the car.  
  
Buffy blew out a long breath. “No, because I knew you’d freak out, and honestly, I’m tired of everyone freaking out. I’m not twelve. I know what I’m doing.”  
  
Just then, Spike-the-dog came out of the house, trotting down the walk toward them, a rumbling growl forming in his chest, growing louder with each step, eyes locked on Angel.  
  
Angel took a wary step back from Buffy as the big dog sidled up against her, glaring at the dark vampire, a nearly sub-sonic growl vibrating the air. “Has Spike met Spike?”  
  
“Yes. You’ll be happy to know blood was drawn … vampire blood,” Buffy confirmed.  
  
Angel smirked and looked over at the blond vampire. “Hope you aren’t too fond of your shoes,” he called to his grand-childe. When all else fails, taunt.  
  
The blond smirked back and made a low rumbling sound in his throat. The dog abruptly stopped growling and turned away from Angel, heading over to the vampire with whom he shared his name. Angel waited for the explosion, the attack, or at least the raised leg and golden shower, but none of that happened. Instead the dog nuzzled the vampire’s hand affectionately as Spike surreptitiously slipped him a small piece of beef jerky from his pocket.  
  
“What the hell, Buffy?” Angel demanded, waving a hand at the two Spikes. “I thought you said it hated  _all vampires_! Apparently, it just hates me.”  
  
“What?” Buffy asked, confused, she turned to see the dog sitting down having his head rubbed by the blond. “What have you done to my dog?!?” she demanded, stalking over to them.  
  
“Nothin’, luv. Just playing nice, as requested,” Spike defended. “Right smart one, this,” he continued, scratching the dog’s floppy ears. “Clearly knows the good guys from the bad, eh?”  
  
Buffy sighed and shook her head, letting her eyes fall closed as she massaged the headache that was forming between her brows.  
  
“Ready t’ go, then?” Spike asked, opening the back door for the dog to get in.  
  
“Why not?” she sighed, opening her eyes and turning back to face Angel. “Go home, please? And stay there. I’ll be fine, and I’ll explain everything when I get back.”  
  
“You can’t trust him!” Angel asserted, glaring at Spike.  
  
Behind Buffy’s back, Spike curled his hands into faux claws, widened his eyes, and silently mouthed ‘Oooo!’ as he mocked attacking the Slayer. Angel’s eyes narrowed dangerously at him. Spike dropped the mime act and curled his tongue against his teeth, grinning wickedly.  
  
Buffy sighed. “I’ll watch my back,” she assured him, making Spike choke out a laugh and Angel grit his teeth.  
  
“I don’t like this, Buffy,” Angel informed her, drawing his eyes away from the annoying blond and back to meet hers.  
  
“Yeah, well, welcome to the club. I’m president. You can be the treasurer.”

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“Is this seriously all the music you have?” Buffy asked, looking through the worn cardboard box of much-abused cassettes as  _The Clash_  encouraged her to ‘Rock the Casbah’.  
  
“Only music that matters, luv,” Spike sniffed, fishing in his pockets to find his smokes as they sailed out of Sunnydale on the dark, two-lane road.  
  
“P-lease,” she groaned. “Where are  _my_  cassettes?”  
  
“Left ‘em home where such indignities belong,” he informed her. “Boy bands my soddin’ arse.”  
  
“Well, excuse me for not being two-hundred years old,” she griped, dropping the box back into the floorboard with a clatter.  
  
“Not even a hundred-and-fifty,” he informed her. “Anyway, driver picks the music,” he said, pulling a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth.  
  
“Who says?”  
  
“Everybody knows that! Rule’s as old as Karl Benz,” Spike asserted, finding his Zippo and lighting his fag with a deep inhalation of soothing nicotine.  
  
“Who?”  
  
Spike arched a brow at her, clicking the lighter closed and slipping it back into his pocket. He took another drag on the cigarette before flicking the ash out the open window.  “Inventor of the automobile,” he clarified.  
  
Buffy frowned. “Henry Ford invented the automobile.”  
  
Spike barked out a laugh. “What the bloody hell they teachin’ you munchkins these days? Load o’ bollocks, that is. Ford my aching arsehole.”  
  
Buffy’s scowl deepened. “Well, you do know the other road trip rule, right?”  
  
Spike took another hit of nicotine, looking over at her. “What rule’s that?”  
  
“Passenger picks the air quality,” she informed him brightly, plucking the cigarette from his lips and tossing it out the window. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”  
  
Spike glared at her long enough to make Buffy worry he’d crash the car, but finally turned his attention back to the road. His scowl did not diminish, however. “Pain in my soddin’ arse, you are,” he muttered.  
  
Buffy grinned smugly, putting her feet up on the dashboard and leaning back in the seat. Rock the Casbah, indeed.

 

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

  
“Welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?” the bored voice came through the drive-thru speaker.  
  
“Yeah, gimme four Whoppers. Plain. No rabbit food on them,” Spike began.  
  
“Cheese?”  
  
Spike looked in the rearview mirror at the dog who tilted his head to the side in interest. _“Rrr-arf,”_ he half-barked, half-growled in reply.  
  
“Yeah, with cheese. Two orders o’ onion rings and give me zesty as well as sweet and sour sauce with those. Oh, and a large Coke and a large water.  
  
“Whaddya want, pet?” he asked, looking at Buffy.  
  
Buffy’s brows went up. “You’re eating all that?”  
  
Spike arched a brow at her. “Got a problem with m’ eating habits?”  
  
Buffy shook her head in confusion and shrugged. “Uh, no … whatever. I’ll have, ummm … a chicken sandwich combo with Dr. Pepper.”  
  
“ _Woof_ ,” the dog breathed, nuzzling his cold, wet nose against Spike’s neck.  
  
Spike’s shoulders lifted in reflex, his head ducking, trying to protect his neck, as he swatted the dog away. “Alright, alright … bloody hell,” he groaned before turning back to speak into the sign.  
  
“Cancel that Coke and give me two chicken sandwich combos with Dr. Pepper to go with that.”  
  
The voice repeated the order back and gave him the total. “Second window, please,” it said finally, and Spike pulled forward.  
  
Spike handed the girl a credit card and she began handing out sauces, straws, and napkins, which Spike handed to Buffy. Next came the two fountain drinks and the water, which he passed over.  
  
“Where are the drink holders?” Buffy wondered, looking between them and then up at the dashboard for some hidden gizmo that she could pull out to put the drinks in.  
  
Spike took one of the drinks from her hand. “Watch and learn, grasshopper,” he said, placing it between his jean-clad thighs and looking over at her smugly.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes and followed his example, settling the drink between her legs.  
  
“Never been jealous of a fountain drink before, but reckon there’s a first time for everything, eh?” he asked, curling his tongue over his teeth before lifting his smoldering gaze from her lap to her eyes.  
  
“Pig.”  
  
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Spike smirked and turned back to take the food from the girl and hand it over to Buffy.  
  
“Impressive. From Kung Fu to Shakespeare in two seconds flat,” she deadpanned, taking the bags and rolling her eyes, but silently marveling at that a bit. Spike and Kung Fu? Okay, she could maybe see that, but Spike and Shakespeare? Of course, maybe when he was growing up that was the only thing on TV.  
  
“Here’s your copy, Mr. Summers,” the girl said finally, handing the card and the receipt to him. “Thank you and come again.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes went wide. She snatched the credit card out of his hand before he could even take his foot off the brake to move.  
  
“You stole my mother’s credit card?! I can’t believe you!” she screeched at him, making the girl in the window look back at them curiously.  
  
Spike gave the girl a long-suffering smile. “Off her meds, she is. Tragic case,” he explained before pulling away from the window. He looked over at his companion, scowling. “Didn’t steal it! Gave it to me, didn’t she? Didn’t reckon you’d care for my usual policy of acquiring goods and services.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
Spike pulled into a parking spot and looked over at her, brows raised, waiting for her to get it.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes and looked away, shaking her head. “Not paying…” she groaned. “I cannot believe that not only am I helping you get Dru back, but my mother is paying for it!”  
  
“Think she said somethin’ about taking it out of your allowance,” Spike corrected her.  
  
“Oh, of course! Even better! I’m paying for it!” she groused, starting to unload the food from the bags with undue force.  “Can my life get any more complete? A road trip with nothing but punk rock to listen to and a know-it-all, pig of a vampire who takes food orders from my dog. I assume this other chicken combo is for you?” she asked, looking back at the big dog.  
  
“ _Whoof_!” he agreed, drool slipping from his jaws as he eyed the delicious paper-wrapped smells she was sorting out.  
  
“And two of the burgers,” Spike added. “Promised him earlier, didn’t I? For pissing on Angel’s shoes.”  
  
Buffy shook her head in dismay. “If he gets gas, I’m totally making you sleep with him,” she threatened, breaking pieces off the chicken sandwich and handing back to the dog, who snapped them up with alacrity.  
  
“No worries. Don’t have to breathe, do I?” Spike shrugged as he doused one order of onion rings in the zesty sauce and shoved one into his mouth whole, sauce dribbling from the corner of his lips down his chin.  
  
“Something else you two have in common,” Buffy asserted as the dog slobbered on her fingers while grabbing the next bite of sandwich. “Table manners of a toddler being raised in a barn by wolves.”  
  
“But we’re still pretty,” Spike smirked, wiping the sauce off his face with two fingers and sucking them between his lips enticingly.  
  
Buffy swallowed hard and looked away from his smirking face. It was an effort to drag her eyes from the vision of his lips closing around those long, slender fingers, of how his cheeks sucked in, making his cheekbones stand out even more starkly, and the way his blue eyes danced in the dashboard lights.  
  
“Pretty piggy,” she asserted after a moment, resuming her duty of feeding the sandwich to the dog, carefully keeping her eyes off the pretty vampire.  
  
Spike chuckled wickedly as he pulled out of the parking space and back onto the road. Oh yes, the lady doth protest too much.

 

* * *

 

NOTES:

[Cock a snook](https://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/cock-a-snook.html): The general understanding of what's meant by 'cock a snook' is the spread hand with thumb on the nose, preferably with crossed eyes, waggling fingers and any other annoying gesticulation that comes to mind at the time.

If you can't envision Spike as a bellboy, you might find this entertaining.... [James Marsters Bellboy on Northern Exposure (outtake)](https://youtu.be/bkwv_nh4wxw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! The rest of the story will be all road trip. 
> 
> Thanks also to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> And thanks to Paganbaby for the amazing banner!


	6. Long Talks on Lonely Highways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the miles roll by, the conversation between the two blondes turns more serious, giving Buffy new ideas to consider about vampires and Angel, in particular.

* * *

 

 

Buffy yawned as the car streaked down the highway … or up the highway? Well, they were definitely heading some-which-way on a very dark, boring highway. She’d only gotten about three hours sleep in the last twenty-four hours – not counting the times she dozed off during the SATs. Despite her best efforts to stay awake, fatigue and a belly full of Burger King, including some of Spike’s onion rings, which he shared only if she traded three French fries for one onion ring, was conspiring against her. Not even the Sex Pistols’ banging drums, screeching guitars, and yelling vocals was enough to keep her eyes from drooping.

She tried to stifle another yawn as she blinked her eyes open again, looking out the window at the darkness.

“Get some kip, pet,” Spike suggested.

Buffy looked back at the dog, who was snoozing in the backseat – his own belly full of chicken and flame-broiled burgers – then over at Spike warily.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Not gonna bite you in your sleep,” he insisted, turning the music down a few notches. “Got another few hours ‘fore dawn.”

“You aren’t gonna fall asleep and kill us all in a spectacular fiery crash, are you?”

Spike smirked and looked over at her. “Trust me, luv, if I was gonna kill you, it wouldn’t be like that.”

“How would it be?” she asked, turning in the seat to sit Indian-style facing him. She leaned her back against the door as the cool night air swirled in the window and through her hair. A golden curtain swept over her face, strands fluttering between her lips and making her close her eyes as it whipped across them in the breeze. She reached back and gathered it all up, pulling her untamed mane to one side and braiding it loosely over her shoulder to keep it out of her face.

Spike looked back at the road, a small smile curving his lips. “Call me a pig again, I reckon, if I told ya,” he admitted.

Buffy shrugged one shoulder, silently inviting him to go ahead.

“As a personal favor from me to you, I’d make it good for you. Sink in slowly, yeah? Penetrate your sweet body like warm butter, pour rapture through your veins like thick honey. Wanna feel ya writhe and hear you gasp in pleasure as I drown in your essence, taste the passion of you, feel the heat sing in your blood. See if you taste as good as you smell … as good as I imagine. Can guarantee you’d be floating on blissful clouds when the angels sing.” He looked back at her and raked a smoldering gaze over her, head to toe, before turning back to look at the road.

She thought she felt her clothes burning away under his scrutiny. Buffy swallowed deliberately. Was he talking about killing her or …? Her mind tripped over the images swirling around, conjured by his words… by that voice, like sultry sex dipped in brandy. She tried to shake off the feeling, push the images away, but a little tingle of heat low in her belly began to burn, as if the blue blaze of his eyes had ignited a box of tinder. Why did his rich, smooth voice have to make that sound so hot? Why did his gaze feel like a physical caress?

She swallowed again and gathered herself – pushing all those very inappropriate thoughts away. Of course he was talking about killing her … hotly and seductively.

“So … I’ll be a happy ghost,” she ventured, pressing the words past the uncomfortable lump in her throat.

Spike smirked and swept his burning gaze over her again before turning back to the road. “The happiest ghostie … make the angels at the gate jealous, you will.”

She forced out a derisive snort and rolled her eyes. “You’re such a pig,” she croaked, too flustered with her body’s reaction to put any heat in it.

Spike grinned. "Told ya you'd say that."

Buffy sighed and leaned her head over against the seat, letting her eyes fall closed. She worked on clearing away the last of her ‘Bad, Buffy’ thoughts and tossing them into the dustbin – then quickly slamming the lid shut to keep them from escaping again. ‘ _He’s talking about killing you, not … the other thing._ _Getting killed by a vampire, even a pretty vampire, is not hot. No matter how happy a ghostie he might make you,’_ she reminded herself firmly.  

“Why do you eat Burger King?” she asked then, eager to change the subject, not opening her eyes.

Spike shrugged, rolling with it. “Like it better than McDonalds – better onion rings and got dipping sauces. The zesty one’s brilliant.”

Buffy blinked her eyes open again to look at him. “No, I mean, why do you eat people food instead of just … people? It’s not like you need it to live.”

Spike’s brows drew together as he glanced at her, then back at the road. “Why do you drink Dr. Pepper? Ya don’t need it to live. Tastes good, yeah?”

“I just … I don’t think I’ve ever seen Angel eat anything but blood. He drinks coffee sometimes, but …” she shrugged.

“Angel’s a wanker,” Spike cut in. “He’s either too busy brooding in the dark with his curse to dare enjoy a bloody thing, or too busy enjoying his other _hobbies_ without it t’ give any thought to any of unlife’s other pleasures.”

Buffy frowned, looking down at her hands. “Why … I mean …” Buffy sighed. “Never mind,” she muttered, closing her eyes again and leaning her head to the side again, against the seatback.

“What? Why is Angel a bloody wanker?” Spike guessed. “Always has been, luv. Well, at least from the tales I’ve heard. Can’t personally attest to anything before 1880, but could tell ya some stories that would give your worst nightmares the heebie-jeebies, send ‘em diving for cover, they would.”

Buffy shook her head and opened her eyes again. “No, I mean … why can you … do this?” she asked, waving a hand out to encompass the three of them in the car. “You don’t have a soul, but it didn’t stop you from making a deal with me to save Dru by saving Giles and helping stop Acathla, and now … making another deal to try and save Dru.” Buffy shook her head again, looking back down at her hands knotted in her lap. “I just … it didn’t seem like Angel, without a soul, could love anything or anyone. He could’ve never made a deal with me like that, like this. He was just a … monster.”

Spike fished out his cigarettes and pulled one out, dangling it between his lips as he dug in his pocket for his lighter. Buffy cleared her throat meaningfully. Her raised brows and disapproving glare reminded him of her completely bullshit ‘air quality’ rule. He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, and stuffed the fag back into the pack, slipping the pack back into his duster pocket.

“It’s one of the biggest things that just … confuses me about the whole thing,” she continued when she was sure he’d gotten the ‘no smoking’ signal. “Well, that and how stupid the whole curse is. I mean, who makes a curse that breaks if a deranged demon gets ‘perfectly happy’ and turns them back into a killing machine? That’s just moronic.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, should’ve given ‘im leprosy, had bits start falling off, if ya ask me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes but chuckled a little. “Or made him ride in a car with you for hours on end listening to old punk rock music,” she suggested.

“Or made him live with your dog for all eternity,” Spike suggested, drawing a sleepy growl from the backseat.

“You wouldn’t punish my dog like that, would you?” Buffy joked, reaching back and ruffling Spike’s ears.

“True, that would be cruel and unusual for the mutt,” Spike agreed.

They both grew quiet for a few moments before Spike spoke again. “Darla always said that what we are as humans comes through … doesn’t just go away completely. There’s a part of us that remains – not just memories, but personality, I reckon. The darker we were before, the darker we’ll be after.”

“So, you were a lovelorn choirboy when Dru turned you?” Buffy asked sarcastically.

Spike smirked. “I’ve always been bad, baby,” he purred, flashing her a wicked grin. “Reckon I’m just stronger … better at controlling the demon than Peaches, eh? Or maybe I just love Dru that much.”

“If you’re so in love with her, why do you keep acting so piggy with me?”

Spike shrugged, looking over at her with a salacious smile and then back at the road. “Just trying to see if you’ll admit that my tight jeans, hot body, and cobalt eyes turn you on.”

“Oh, please!” Buffy scoffed, despite the flush that rose to her cheeks. “Delusional much?”

Spike pursed his lips and glanced over at her again more thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s to show you that you deserve better than that wanker. After all he did, why are ya still protecting him? Still loving him? You’re strong and beautiful, cunning and clever. A bloody force o’ nature, is what you are. Why don’t you cut that anchor off your heart and look around, pet? You deserve to be worshiped. Be someone’s everything. He’s not capable of it, Buffy. Curse or not.”

Buffy swallowed and turned back forward in the seat, looking out the side window. She wrapped her arms around her torso protectively, as if that would stop Spike from seeing inside her. The use of her given name making his words even more piercing – too sharp, too personal. “Even without a soul … you love her … Dru? I mean, not just cos she’s your sire,” Buffy whispered into the cool air washing over her face, not looking at him.

“Love her with every fiber of my being. She’s my everything, my dark princess, my destiny,” Spike admitted. “I may be love’s bitch, but at least I’m man enough to admit it.”

Buffy snorted at that, chewing on her lip in contemplation as a dagger twisted in her heart. _Translation: Vampires can love. Vampires can choose to control their demons. Angel doesn’t love you enough to control his. Angel doesn’t love you enough. Angel doesn’t love you at all?_

“Angel’s a master manipulator, pet. Been doing it for ‘bout two hundred and fifty years. The long game’s always been his greatest pleasure. Can’t blame yourself for falling into it. Reckon he’s had a bit more experience than you.”

“So, you think that even with his soul it was all some sick game to him?” Buffy wondered, her face still turned into the night air coming in the window. The fire in her belly had turned into a churning, aching cauldron of fear and heartache as she took all this in.

Spike shrugged and sighed. He should be enjoying the tears she was clearly fighting back, but somehow, they didn’t smell sweet from this girl. They didn’t bring him any joy, just the opposite, they made his own heart hurt for her.

“I dunno,” he placated. “Angelus … he laughed about the Powers That Be making a deal with him to watch over you when you were first called. Hard to figure he’d have that long of a con, if I’m honest, but one thing Angelus always had was patience and cunning. When you’re immortal, what’s a century one way or the other, eh?”

“So maybe he _did_ know how to break the curse,” Buffy whispered. “Maybe the ‘perfect happiness’ wasn’t about him loving me, but about making me love him, making me trust him, making me give him … everything. Maybe it wasn’t the man’s happiness, but the demon’s that was the key to breaking the curse. What better way to make a demon happy than to have a Slayer give herself willingly?”

Spike pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know the answer to that.

Buffy turned to look back at the blond. “Do you think Angel could’ve somehow found out how the curse worked?”

Spike snorted. “If I’m honest, not sure there was anyone left t’ ask when Darla, Dru, and I got done with that group.” He paused and glanced back over the seat, making sure Cujo was sleeping. “Not even the dog,” he whispered, drawing another low growl from the backseat.

“Well, someone must’ve known what it was. Miss Calendar found it,” Buffy pointed out.

“I reckon it’s possible,” Spike agreed. “And, Angel was in New York in the seventies. Dru sensed him there. All I could do t’ keep her from going to him. Had to chain the dizzy bint up anytime I left the lair. Not that she minded…”

“So?” Buffy asked, not sure what that had to do with the price of tea in Boston Harbor.

“So, there was someone else just happened to live in New York then …”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed a moment, then widened. “The Slayer.”

“Give the girl a Kewpie Doll,” Spike drawled.

“You think he tried … he … was with her? He tried to break the curse with her?”

Spike shrugged. “Dunno for sure, do I? Don’t think it would’ve worked with that one, though. She was…”

“Smarter than me?” Buffy suggested dourly.

Spike glanced over at her, then back to the road. “Was gonna say more jaded than you, older, seen more, likely had her heart broken a few times.”

“So, not as gullible as stupid Buffy,” she grated out, tightening the hold she had around her torso as more hot tears threatened. She swallowed hard, willing them back into their little cages deep inside her soul.

“Didn’t say that, did I?” Spike objected. “Just older, luv.”

“You sound like you knew her pretty well,” Buffy said. “You killed her, didn’t you? She’s the one you said begged for her life.”

Spike shrugged. “That’s the dance. Mortal enemies, yeah?”

Buffy sighed and looked back out the window. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Spike continued. “But after being gone for most of two years after being cursed, he just happened to show up in Beijing in the summer of 1900.”

Buffy looked back over at him. “Let me guess …”

Spike raised his brows and shrugged, before looking back at the road. “First Slayer I offed was there.”

“So, Angel just happened to be in China at the same time and in the same city the Slayer was,” Buffy sighed.

“Well, to be fair, he might’ve just been followin’ Darla, or just followin’ the carnage. Was a brilliant war on, and vampires do love a good war, but …”

“He wasn’t following Darla to New York … and if he was following wars in the seventies, he should’ve been in Vietnam or something,” Buffy filled in.

Spike shrugged again. “Might’a just been coincidence.”

Buffy barked out a laugh. “Yeah, cos my life is so full of meaningless coincidences,” she scoffed. “Did that Slayer say anything?” Buffy wondered. “The one in China?”

“Said plenty, but I dunno what. Don’t speak Chinese, do I?” Spike replied. “Gotta say, even for a cursed vampire, Angel looked right upset when Dru told ‘im about the chit buying it.”

“Like he knew her, or … you’d just messed up his plans to try and know her,” Buffy suggested, sighing and looking back out the window. “Does Angel even speak Chinese?”

Spike took a breath and seemed to consider for a bit. “Speaks a few languages … Korean is one, though not sure about Chinese.”

“What other languages does he speak?” Buffy asked. She’d seen him reading some books in other languages, but they’d never really talked about it – as usual. She’d complained to him about having trouble with French, but he’d never offered to help her with it. “French?” she added pointedly.

“Sure, French is a doodle,” Spike replied. “All the romance languages … Italian, Spanish, Latin, of course. Errr … German, Greek, Romanian …”

“Romanian?” Buffy interrupted, chewing her lip. “So, he could’ve … interrogated gypsies about the curse or … or found it written down and been able to read it?”

Spike cleared his throat and shrugged.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” she muttered, letting the wind take the words from her lips and spread them out into the night like lonely fireflies.

Spike frowned and found himself reaching for her, wanting to comfort her, tell her it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the bad-guy here. She wasn’t stupid or particularly gullible, just young enough to still have dreams, to still believe in love and fairy tales, to still have an open heart.

With his hand halfway across the expanse of leather between them, he was stopped by the big dog’s head poking over from the back. Their eyes met and held for an instant – dog and vampire. They both withdrew a fraction, then both advanced again and then both froze. Spike shrugged and sighed, tilting his head in invitation for the dog to go ahead. As Spike withdrew his hand, his namesake nuzzled against Buffy’s ear, resting his chin on her shoulder with a soft whine.

Spike could feel her body relax, her tension ease ever-so-slightly, and her heartbeat calm as she reached up and buried her fingers in the big dog’s mane, leaning into his strength and comfort. He gave the dog an approving nod and turned his attention back to the road, his own emotions in turmoil. Why the fuck did he care about her feelings? Why was he reaching out to comfort her? Why should he be trying to assure her? He should be drinking in the sweet scent of those tears quivering on her lashes, but, somehow, they just tasted bitter to his senses.

What the bloody fuck was wrong with him? This was a mission, nothing more. A mission to save the love of his life, his eternity. When it was over, when Dru was back in his arms, the truce would be over and the next time he saw the Slayer, he’d kill her. Simple as that.

Slayer. Vampire. The course of nature. The dance. Mortal enemies. One lives. One dies.

“I love you too, Spike,” Buffy sighed, making the vampire’s head snap around to look at her, his blue eyes wide.

“Wha—?!?” he croaked, his unbeating heart lurching almost painfully in his chest.

Buffy looked up over the top of the dog’s head and gave the vampire an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, I was talking to the dog. You don’t have to freak out.”

Spike shook himself, sniffed and shrugged casually, looking back at the road. “Knew that, didn’t I?”

The puppy looked over at the vampire, his head tilted, big ears flopping, and mouth dropping open in a doggie-grin.

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! So, was it just coincidence that Angel was in the same cities with Slayers at least twice, three times including Buffy? Maybe he was following Dru and Spike? Or was his demon behind the scenes driving him, thinking that the key to breaking the curse lay with a Slayer? Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> And thanks to Paganbaby for the amazing banner!
> 
> More to come soon! 
> 
> Angel’s Languages by episode:  
> Korean: "Parting Gifts"  
> Tibetan: "Heartthrob"  
> French: "Lovers Walk" (He was reading an untranslated copy of La Nausée.)  
> Italian: "The Ring"  
> Spanish: "The Ring"  
> German: "Why We Fight"   
> Greek: "I Will Remember You"  
> Latin: "Rm w/a Vu" (he gave Doyle a short tutorial on Latin pronunciation.)  
> Romanian: "Five by Five"


	7. All That and a Bag of Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Buffy's first night of travel comes to an end at the Hot Ass hotel.

* * *

 

Buffy hadn’t realized she’d dozed off until she snapped awake when the rumble of the engine stopped.

“Okay, pet?” Spike asked as she rubbed at her eyes, trying to get the crusted tears from her lashes. She’d refused to let them fall.

“Yeah … or I will be, anyway,” she replied, giving him a grateful smile, the genuineness of it shining even in her tired, puffy eyes. “Thanks.”

Spike shrugged, taken off-guard by the sincerity in her voice and the softness in those usually sharp eyes. Snarky sarcasm he could handle, but authentic appreciation from the Slayer left him speechless. Shutting Spike up was something Angelus hadn’t managed in two decades, despite unrelenting attempts. The vampire looked away from her, scowling a bit, hoping she didn’t share that particular weapon with the enormous git. Not that Angelus was capable of sincere appreciation…

“Where are we?” she asked, interrupting his meandering thoughts as she stifled a yawn.

“The middle o’ bloody nowhere,” Spike replied, happy for some neutral ground. “But the sun’ll be up shortly. Can’t take a chance on making it to a real town – or what passes for towns out here in Bumfuckery, Egypt.”

_Bumfuckery?_ Buffy decided to let that lie as she blinked up at the buzzing, red neon sign above the building. “Hot ass?” she questioned, arching a brow at him. There it was … the sharp look and sarcastic tone. This was better.

Spike smirked and shifted in his seat, turning as if to look at his ass. “Ta ever so, Slayer,” he teased. “Yours ain’t half bad either.”

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes, gesturing to the sign. “Just what kind of hotel is this, Spike? The kind they rent by the hour?”

Spike followed the motion of her hand, looking up. “Ah, well, out at the highway it said it was ‘Hotel Cass’. Gotta say, ‘Hot Ass’ sounds a bit more fun, though.”

Buffy groaned. “It’s too late … or too early or too _something_ for your dirty mind.”

“Well, me and my dirty mind and hot ass’ll be back in a mo’,” he told her opening the door and sliding out.

“Don’t tell them about the dog,” she said in a low voice, knowing he could hear her.

Spike shut the door and leaned back down into the window. “Slayer! You want me t’ lie?” he asked, sounding shocked and appalled.

“No, I just want you to keep your mouth shut. I know that’s hard for you, but do your best,” she retorted. “I’m not paying that crazy fee they’ll want. Spike isn’t gonna hurt anything.”

“Ya don’t think they’ll notice, eh? Or should I just say it’s a pony?”

“It’s, like, 6 a.m. or something. All sane people are asleep. No one’s gonna see him. Anyway, he’s very stealthy when he wants to be,” she contended.

Spike snorted. “And I thought white hats were all about truth, justice and the American way.”

“We are … except when there’s an extra fee involved.”

Spike laughed, shaking his head and pushed away from the car, heading for the office, his confident swagger, complete with flowing duster and predatory grace, on full display.

“He thinks he’s so hot,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Her disdain didn’t stop her from watching him all the way to the hotel office, however.

When the door to the office closed behind the vampire, she shook herself and looked back at the other occupant of the car. “No barking, okay?” Buffy told Spike, reaching back to ruffle his ears.

He sneezed and looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Good boy,” she laughed, patting him again as they waited.

Spike came back a few minutes later. “Got good news and bad news,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

“This should be interesting,” Buffy droned, looking at him suspiciously.

“They have a vacancy.”

“Good,” Buffy agreed.

“They got one vacancy…” he added, holding up a single old-fashioned key dangling from a red and white plastic keychain.

“Oh, give me a break!” Buffy insisted. “That’s the lamest, most clichéd, piggy thing you’ve tried yet! We’re in the middle of nowhere! How can there be only one room?”

“Wedding,” he explained. “Apparently, someone thought getting married out here with the squirrels and aardvarks would be the perfect way t’ start life with their future ex.”

“You’re so full of shit!” Buffy huffed, grabbing the key from his hand, jumping out of the car, and stalking back into the office.

“She’ll be back in a mo’,” he told the dog as he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and sighing the air pollution out as the nicotine flowed into him.

Sure enough, in just a few moments, Buffy came stomping back to the car. “You planned this! Somehow, you planned this!” she accused him, sitting back down in a huff and slamming the door closed.

“Seems just yesterday you were questioning the existence of my brain, pet. Now I’ve masterminded a bloody wedding in the middle of soddin’ nowhere?” he asked, starting the car.

“I don’t know how you did it,” she groused. “And I don’t know what you think is gonna happen, but I can tell you right now that there will be zero in the happening column, and if you try anything, I’ll—”

“Dust me good and proper,” Spike sighed, pulling around to the back of the hotel and parking in front of their room.

Buffy shot him a glare before getting out of the car and unlocking the door to the room. Thank God, at least it had two beds. And it looked and smelled clean. And she was exhausted and really just wanted to collapse onto one of those beds and ignore the fact that a mass-murdering, Slayer-obsessed, piggy, maniacal vampire would be in the room with her.

Spike sauntered up just behind where she stood in the doorway, surveying the room. “Did ya want me to carry ya over the threshold, luv?” he whispered against her ear.

Buffy elbowed him in the ribs and Spike doubled over, letting out a grunt of pain. “Don’t be a smartass,” she advised him, spinning around.

“I’m going to take Spike for a walk in those woods over there,” she said, tilting her head to a patch of trees and grass on the other side of the parking lot. “Why don’t you … do whatever you do, and be asleep when we get back.”

Spike arched a brow at her. “Ya know, you’re so bloody worried about me, but that goes both ways, Slayer. How do I know ya won’t stake me in my sleep or take advantage of this hot, tight little body when my defenses are down?”

“Number one: When I stake you, it won’t be in your sleep, Spike, trust me. I want you to see it coming. Number two: Get over yourself. You ain’t all that,” Buffy retorted, pushing past him and back toward the car and the waiting dog.

Spike snorted, turning to look at her. “I’m all that and a bag o’ chips, Slayer.”

Buffy shook her head but couldn’t help but smile as she opened the backdoor of the car and let Spike out.  Spike — the vampire, that is — seemed to surprise her at every turn. She never knew what she’d hear out of him, from pop culture references from the last couple of decades to Shakespeare to the low-down on ancient demons. He looked like Billy Idol, dressed like James Dean, and smirked like the cat that annoyed the canary. He was an absolute pig and he was unconditionally dedicated beyond all logic and reason to Drusilla. He’d give you a puppy and then try and steal it back from you six months later. He ate onion rings and drank Dr. Pepper and bought hamburgers for her dog … okay, well, he _ordered_ the hamburgers, he didn’t actually pay for them. He was an evil, vile vampire who watched ‘Passions’ and drank hot cocoa with little marshmallows with her mom.

Buffy was still shaking her head and smiling as she followed the puppy into the woods to let him stretch his legs and do his business. She glanced back to see that Spike was still standing in the doorway, watching her. There was no way he’d be asleep when she got back; somehow that thought didn’t really bother her too much.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy cracked the door to the room open wide enough for Spike to get in … which, granted, was pretty wide, but she kept her eyes firmly glued on the walkway outside. “Are you decent?” she called into the room.

She could practically hear the vampire smirk. “Beyond decent by a fair bit. I’m bloody incredible, pet.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. She should’ve seen that coming. “Can I come in?”

“Can do anything you please, I reckon. Don’t let me stop ya.”

More eyerolling. She took a quick peek around the corner of the door but saw no flash of white hair in her vision, so she took another, longer look. The puppy sat staring at the almost-closed bathroom door, mouth hanging open, panting lightly from the run in the woods. The vampire was not in sight – apparently still in the bathroom.

“Okay, I’m coming in,” she announced, stepping in with one of her bags and locking the door behind her. She debated which bed to take – the one nearest the door or the one nearest the bathroom. She decided being near the door, and the window, would be a smarter option and tossed her bag on it. She’d started pulling out things to take into the bathroom when Spike emerged in a fog of steam, running a towel over his damp, tousled hair. Droplets of water clung to his bare torso, glinting in the lamplight and running in lazy streams down to the towel that was slung low around his hips.

“Holy shit.” She hadn’t meant to say it. It just came out … kinda like her tongue hanging out and her eyes popping from her skull, Saturday morning comics style.

Spike’s smirk grew.

Buffy regrouped, pulling her eyeballs back into their sockets and picking her tongue up off the floor and stuffing it back in her mouth. “I mean, holy shit! Where are your clothes!?”

Spike tilted his head toward a chair that had all his clothes draped over it as he petted a hand down on the big dog’s head in greeting. “Gettin’ ready for bed, aren’t I?”

“You aren’t sleeping in the nude! In here! With me!” she objected. “Don’t you have some … some pajamas or … or boxers or shorts or something?”

Spike snorted out a laugh. “Evil, luv. Pajamas not good for the reputation, are they? And not a school-boy, don’t wear short pants.”

“You are _not_ sleeping in the nude,” she insisted.

“If ya don’t like it, then don’t look.”  Spike arched a brow at her and unhooked the towel that was around his waist, letting it fall to the floor.

“ _Gah_!” she gasped, whirling around in a flash to put her back to him as a crimson blush rose up her neck and face. “I swear I’m gonna kill you!”

She heard him chuckling and then the squeak of bedsprings. “You’d have t’ look at me fer that,” he pointed out with more rustling of covers and shifting of pillows. “Reckon I’m safe.”

“You’re a pig!” she declared, chancing a look over her shoulder to see that he was in the other bed, mostly covered up – that chest and those abs, though, they were still plenty visible … and his arms. Those were some fine arms. And check out the hair! It was almost … cute, all damp and curly and tousled.

“But I’m a pretty pig,” he taunted, lifting one hand behind his head to watch her as she turned back around slowly.

Buffy shook her head and looked down at her bag, keeping her eyes off the pretty vampire, but she could feel his eyes on her. “Stop looking at me like that,” she insisted, digging her own pajamas out.

“Like what, pet?”

“You know what.”

“Can’t look at ya now?” he wondered.

“Just stop with that … come-hither shit. It doesn’t work on me,” she insisted.

Spike barked out a laugh. “Doesn’t it, then? Reckon Angel would disagree.”

He regretted it as soon as he said it.

Her face hardened. She’d been annoyed before, but it had been more put-on than real, he could tell by the way her body reacted, the way her heart skipped, and her blood thrummed. This was real. All teasing was gone from her eyes, from her posture, even from the way her heart beat.

“Sorry … I,” Spike began.

“Just shut up,” she growled, picking up her stuff and stalking to the bathroom. She stopped at the door, not turning around to look at him. “Where are your keys?”

“My … keys?” he asked, confused.

“The keys to your car? Where are they?”

His brows furrowed, but he said, “Pocket of my jeans.”

Buffy nodded and stomped over to the chair, rifled through his jeans and pulled the keys out, taking them with her into the bathroom. “In case you get a bright idea to try and take Spike and leave. Be a little harder without these,” she explained.

“Oi! Not a welcher, am I? I keep my bloody deals,” he complained, raising up in the bed.

“Oh, really? Like the one about not coming back to Sunnydale?” she shot back.

“Anyone ever tell you what an absolute bitch you are?”

“Yeah,” she replied angrily, slamming the door. “You.”

The big dog whined, giving Spike a reproachful look.

“Oh, shut up,” the vampire groaned, flopping back down on the pillows.

The puppy walked over and nudged Spike’s hand with another little whine, slipping his head beneath it for a rub. Spike sighed and complied, scratching the dog’s fluffy Dumbo ears. “I know … I’m bloody git sometimes.”

The smarter of the two Spikes let out a huff of breath.

“Don’t have to agree so bleedin’ fast,” Spike complained, taking a deep breath and sighing it out. “Bugger.”

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy turned her face up to the hot water from the shower and stopped trying to hold back her tears. Maybe Spike was wrong about Angel. Maybe it had just been coincidence that he’d been in the same town as Slayers … three times. Afterall, Spike had been in those towns, too… but then, he hunted Slayers, didn’t he?  Why would the PTB put her right in Angel’s path like this if the curse could be broken with the conquest of a Slayer? Of course, maybe they didn’t know that little caveat. They didn’t seem to know that he was going to awaken Acathla.  Clearly, they didn’t know everything.

But why did Angel keep trying to kiss her, to hold her, to draw her back in? He should be trying to stay away from her, like she was him, right? Why was she, the seventeen-year-old, having to constantly stop his advances? Did he not think he’d lose his soul if they made love a second time? Or did he think he would?

Had he ever really loved her at all? Or had she just been a pawn in his demon’s quest for freedom?

Buffy sank down onto the olive-green porcelain of the tub and curled into a ball as the hot water rained down on her, washing her hot tears out to sea. Sobs shook her body and she didn’t try to stop them, not really caring anymore if the vampire in the other room could hear her. She had no strength left to hold it in.

Buffy had no idea how long she’d been there, but the hot water had turned lukewarm, on the way to cold, when there was a small ‘click’ and the bathroom door opened.

“Go away,” she croaked through her tear-roughened throat. She heard more movement behind her. “If you don’t leave, I swear I’ll rip your head off with my bare hands, then I’ll rip the one off your shoulders.”

The shower curtain sliding open told her he wasn’t listening.

Spike’s soft whine and cold nose against the back of her neck sent another shuddering sob rolling over her. “Spikey,” she whispered, sitting up slowly and reaching up to turn the ever-more-chilly water off. “You learned how to work a door now? That can’t be of the good.”

She heard the bathroom door close again with a small click, drawing her eyes, but it was just her and her best friend in the small bathroom. Spike shook his head, flinging water off, making Buffy throw her hands up in defense.

“At least it’s not blood or guts,” she sighed, giving him a soft smile as he leaned back in and rested his heavy chin on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of him. He wasn’t a puppy anymore – not a puppy-puppy – and didn’t have that same puppy smell as when she’d first met him. Now he smelled like the evergreens he’d been running through earlier, and the leather seat of Spike’s car, with a hint of cigarette smoke, but, under it all, he was just her friend. The one person – or, you know, dog – in all the world that could always make her heart feel better.

“You kept trying to tell me, didn’t you?” she asked him. “About Angel. Is that why you don’t like him? Can you tell?”

Spike huffed out a small growling bark and leaned against her harder, nearly toppling her over in the bottom of the tub.

Buffy sighed, a bone deep exhalation that seemed to come from the center of her heart. “We’re gonna have to deal with him when we get back.”

“Rrrf,” Spike agreed, keeping his voice low before giving her a long, wet kiss on the side of her face.

“Ugh! Spike lips! Lips of Spike!” she laughed, pulling back. “I’m gonna need another shower now.”

“Whoof!” Spike said a bit louder, his front feet bouncing off the tile floor and his eyes glittering with amusement.

“Shhh!” Buffy warned, looking at the thin walls. “You’re supposed to be stealthy.”

“Woof,” he said in a whisper.

Buffy snorted a small laugh and pushed herself up, using Spike as crutch, which he barely noticed. “Just give me a minute to rinse these Spike cooties off,” she told him, pulling the curtain closed again as Spike sat down to wait.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy came out of the bathroom dressed in her ‘Yummy Sushi’ pajamas, the big dog on her heels. Spike was in bed and looked like he was asleep, but Buffy was pretty sure he wasn’t. He was covered up with a sheet from toes to chin, like he was cold or shy or something, which drew an eye roll from the Slayer.

She put the car keys on the bedside table between the two beds. The sound made Spike open his eyes. When he raised his gaze from the keys to meet her eyes, she gave him a sad smile before turning the light off and climbing into her bed and beneath the covers.

The dog huffed out a tired breath, turned in three circles on the carpet between the beds, and settled down, as well. Spike and Buffy’s hands met as they reached for the dog’s head to pet him. They both pulled back on instinct, but a split-second later Spike’s hand engulfed hers, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze.

“I’m sorry, pet. Didn’t mean it,” he said, releasing his grip on her small hand and reaching down to pet the dog’s back.

Buffy took up petting Spike’s big, soft ears. “You’re a strange vampire,” she told him.

He snorted, gave the dog one last pat, and rolled onto his back. “You ‘ave no bloody idea.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, also giving the big dog a final rub and turning onto her back.

“For what?” Spike wondered.

“Being strange.”

Spike snorted again.

“Good night, Spike.”

“Good night, Slayer.”

“ _Whoof_.”

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> New banner by Holli117! Isn’t it cool!? And thanks to Paganbaby for the first amazing banner!
> 
> More to come soon!


	8. Strange Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road Trip Entertainment.

* * *

 

The vampire was lurking. He was good at lurking. Better than good. A professional lurker. If Bruce Springsteen had an album called ‘Born to Lurk’, Spike would’ve been on the cover. Or, well, not ‘born’ exactly, but ‘died’ … ‘Died to Lurk’ … ‘The Lurking Dead’ … ‘Dead Man Lurking’. Yeah, that was him.

Spike drew in a long hit of nicotine as he leaned against a tree in the park-like area at the back of the hotel where Buffy had walked the dog the previous morning. The sun hadn’t been down long, but the reception for the wedding that had apparently been held earlier that afternoon was in full swing on the lawn. He took a swallow of whiskey from the bottle in his hand – the good stuff – which he’d nicked from the bar. The wedding guests looked like some strange mixture of the Waltons and the Manson Family.  The bride had apparently found her a ‘bad boy’ to marry, and Spike hadn’t had any trouble fitting into the crowd, even in jeans and t-shirt. It had been easy enough to grab the bottle of GlenDronach from the bar when the bartender had been distracted, and just walk away with it.

The vampire watched, unnoticed, from the dark woods around the neatly-manicured, softly-lit lawn, his predatory senses singling out targets. The bride would be delicious, all those happy-horny-hormones coursing through her would make her blood buzz like angels on bennies – but she’d be missed pretty quickly. The mother-of-the-bride was attractive, but she looked distraught, and no wonder – heaven only knew what it cost to pay for all this. Her blood would be dull and lifeless; barely worth the trouble. The mother-of-the-groom looked three sheets to the wind and could be a fun one, she was clearly a party girl. It would be easy for Spike to lure her off with a sultry look and a little sweep of tongue over his lips. The bridesmaids all seemed to be paired off with groomsmen or dates; too much work to get one of them off on their own. Then there were the children running about, playing chase in and out of the crowd and around the edges of the wood. He’d need two of them, at least, to make a good meal, but one would make a decent snack. Maybe it could hold him over and keep him from having to drink any of that rancid pig’s blood.

Blonde or brunette? A ginger would be tasty, with that hot, fiery blood, but apparently there hadn’t been any rust in the pipes in these families. There. Blonde. Blue eyes. Infectious giggle. Rambunctious. The flower girl? She was dressed in a frilly dress the same color as the bridesmaids. She’d do. Yes, she’d do nicely.

Spike watched, drinking his whiskey and smoking, waiting for his chance. She’d come near the woods soon, he was sure. It would only take a moment for him to grab her and steal her away into the growing darkness.

He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his heel before downing the rest of the whiskey and tossing the bottle down, as well. His eyes locked on his target, calculating her path and her speed, assessing the crowd, gauging the distance, deciding on his escape route, just like he’d done hundreds of times before. He took a step toward the place he estimated she’d be in another few seconds as she ran and called to her mates, getting close enough to the trees for him to nab.

He’d begun to move in earnest when he was suddenly drawn up short by a huge shadow flecked with copper moving into his path, and turning hard, accusing eyes on him.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, skidding to a stop. He’d completely forgotten that he’d brought the dog out with him while Buffy was getting dressed. “Don’t look at me like that. Vampire, aren’t I?” he asked his namesake in exasperation.

The dog shook his big head vigorously, rattling his tags, and looked back at the vampire, his eyes flashing momentarily sliver-blue.

“I’m not breakin’ my word,” Spike insisted, his lips pursed into a frown, hands going to his hips.

The dog huffed out an indignant breath.

Spike ‘tsked’ his tongue. “Should’a named you ‘Angel’, bloody self-righteous prat.”

A low, dangerous growl rumbled from the dog’s chest and he drew his lips back in a threatening snarl.

Spike held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright … maybe the Angel remark was a bit beyond the pale, but still a right killjoy, you are.”

“Rrrrr-Aarf!” Spike retorted in a half-growl, glaring at the white rabbit defiantly.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine, but see if I get you any more soddin’ hamburgers,” he groused, fishing in his pocket for his pack of smokes as he began trudging back toward the parking lot.

The dog trotted momentarily to catch up, then bumped into the side of Spike’s thigh with a heavy shoulder, sending the vampire stumbling off to the side and nearly dropping his lighter. “Said I was goin’, didn’t I? Drink the nasty shite,” he muttered, lighting up another smoke and stuffing the lighter back into his pocket.

“ _Whoof_!” Spike encouraged, nuzzling the vampire’s now-free hand.

“Think ya deserve a petting for that, do ya?” Spike continued to grouse. “Not bloody likely,” he grumbled even as he began to scratch the dog’s floppy ears. “Pain in my arse, you are.”

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy was just bringing her bag of snacks out of the room when the two Spike’s returned. She leaned against the trunk, waiting for them to get across the parking lot.

“You guys have a good time?” she wondered as the dog came up and pressed against her, bumming more petting, which he got.

“Brilliant,” Spike grumbled. “Do ya know how to heat up that blood, then?” he asked, tilting his head toward the cooler already in the back floorboard.

“Yeah,” Buffy said, standing up from where she was leaning against the trunk with difficulty, since Spike was pinning her to the car. “C’mon, I’ll show you. If you don’t do it right, you get cooked blood on the outside of the mug and cold on the inside.”

“Don’t think I need t’ muddle my brain with the details,” Spike insisted, reaching through the back window and retrieving one of the containers from the cooler. “Reckon I won’t ever need that useless info after we part ways,” he insisted, handing her the container. “Be sticking with the ‘on tap’ brands after this.”

Buffy rolled her eyes but took the container from him. “Have you been drinking?” she asked, catching a whiff of alcohol on his breath. 

“What’s it to ya? Is killing barley against the bloody rules now, too?” he snarked.

“No … I was just curious if I was going to be riding in a car driven by a drunken vampire, is all.”

“ _Pfft_ ,” Spike snorted. “Take more than a bottle o’ Scotch t’ get me drunk – unfortunately.”

“A bottle? Like … one of those cute little baby bottles?” she wondered, holding up her thumb and forefinger to demonstrate a small, single-serving size bottle.

Spike barked out a laugh. “Yeah, pet, one o’ those bitty ones. Must’a fallen off an airplane, I reckon,” he asserted, looking up in the starlit sky for said plane.

With his gaze still skyward, Buffy swung her fist at his chin with a haymaker punch. Spike jerked away, leaning backwards almost Matrix-style, to avoid it.

“What the bloody fuck, Slayer?” he demanded, curling his hands into fists as he straightened back up, centering his weight, his demon rising, ready to fight.

“Just doing a field sobriety test,” she said with a shrug. “You passed.” She turned then and headed back into the room to heat up the blood.

“Bloody bint,” he muttered, glowering after her. Standing there waiting, it occurred to him that he should’ve saved some whiskey to wash the taste of rancid blood out of his mouth with. He looked back at the wedding party and then at the door to the room. Did he have time to nick another bottle before she came back?

“ _Rrrraarrrf_ ,” Spike warned in a low rumble.

“Sod off,” the vampire growled back. “Was just gonna nick some scotch, for fuck’s sake. Don’t be such a ponce.”

Buffy returned then with two mugs, which she set down on the trunk. “Blood and cocoa,” she said, shrugging. “Mom said you needed the cocoa to get the taste of pig’s blood out of your mouth.”

The vampire’s brows couldn’t decide whether to rise or draw together, so they made an odd confused motion. “How the bloody hell…”

Buffy snorted at the strange face he had manifested. “She’s a mom. She can tell when her cooking is just being forced down, like when I had to eat broccoli or liver,” Buffy informed him, as he picked up the mug of blood and sniffed it.

His nose wrinkled up, but he swallowed it down in a few long gulps, like taking medicine. “Bloody awful,” he complained, his face contorting like he’d just swallowed a combination of orange juice and toothpaste.

“I think it’s an acquired taste,” Buffy told him as he picked up the cocoa and took a sip, swirling it around in his mouth to try and get all the blood rinsed away before swallowing.

“Who would want t’ acquire a taste for that shite?” he wondered, before taking another drink of the cocoa, cleansing his palate.

“Vampires who don’t want to get staked?” Buffy guessed with a saccharine smile as she waited for him to finish the cocoa.

Spike snorted and rolled his eyes. “Starting to think staking would be preferable.”

“Don’t be a baby,” she groaned.

“I’ll stop bein’ a baby when you stop being a bitch,” he sniffed as he handed the empty cocoa mug back to her.

Buffy laughed. “Well, I guess neither of those things is gonna happen, then.”

“Not bloody likely,” he agreed as she turned to go back in the room to rinse the mugs out.

** X-X-X-X-X **

“How much further?” Buffy wondered as the night rolled by outside her window, dark and boring, just like most of the previous night.

Spike arched a brow at her. “What are you, five?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was just wondering. Are we gonna get there tonight?”

“Barring too many bathroom breaks, yeah,” Spike said.

“As if you don’t want those breaks just as much as we do. You’re jonesing for a cigarette right now.”

“Bollocks _,_ ” he disagreed. “Could go days without a fag. Reckon I could go longer without a fag than you could without chocolate, Slayer.”

“As if!” Buffy disagreed. “Anyway, chocolate doesn’t stink up the car.”

“Says you,” Spike retorted, wrinkling his nose. “Smell like Willy Wonka, you do.”

Buffy tsked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Better than smelling like a burned-out gymnasium,” she contended, looking in her snack bag for more of the offending chocolatey sustenance. “And I should know!

“Oh, look. Mom put some Trivial Pursuit cards in here,” Buffy said, pulling out a handful of cards in a rubber band. “Do you wanna play?”

Spike’s brows furrowed. “How do ya play?”

“Well, usually there’s a board, but in the car we usually just ask the questions and see who knows the answers,” Buffy explained, grabbing her small flashlight to use to read by.

“What are the stakes?” Spike asked.

Buffy frowned. “There are no stakes, it’s just for fun.”

“That’s bollocks. Gotta have stakes.”

“Well, I’m not even sure how to keep score this way,” she pointed out.

“Afraid, are ya?”

“Not afraid! Ummmm … okay, I’ll ask the questions and if we disagree on the answer, then whoever is right gets a point. We’ll take turns answering first. I’ll have to ask all the questions on the card and then look at the answers on the back, otherwise, I’d be able to see the rest of the answers.”

“You’re a bloody idiot,” he informed her.

A low, warning growl came from the backseat, making Spike roll his eyes.

“What? Why?” Buffy demanded.

“Ya shouldn’t’ve told me all the answers were on the back. Could’ve gone through a few cards ‘fore I noticed.”

Buffy clicked her tongue. “I’m not a cheater,” she declared.

“No, yer a bloody idiot,” Spike agreed.

The growl raised in volume and a snarl was added in for good measure. “Well, the Slayer’s not as smart as you, I’d wager,” Spike shot back over the seat.

The dog let out a huff of breath and a sigh. The growl stopped.

“HEY!” Buffy objected, her face caught between a pout and a scowl. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side,” she chastised, looking back over the seat at the big furball.

The Guardian sighed again, more heavily, and flopped back flat on the seat, removing himself from this no-win situation. Buffy rolled her eyes.

Spike choked out a muffled laugh. “So, stakes?” he asked again.

“At this rate, the only stakes are wooden and pointy!” she threatened. “Do you want to play or not?”

“Go on then…”

“Right, okay, first question: ‘What Russian city saw the collapse of the German eastern front?’” she asked, reading from the card.

“Stalingrad,” Spike supplied immediately.

Buffy frowned. “Uh, yeah, of course,” she said confidently, shrugging a shoulder. “’What color is the towel in Edgar Degas’ 1898 pastel ‘ _After the Bath, Woman Wiping Her Neck’_?’”

Spike glanced over at her as she studied the card, thinking. He smirked as he turned back to watch the road, waiting. “Think we need a time limit. Tick-tock, Slayer, not getting any younger here.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking,” she complained.

“Shall I hum the ‘Final Jeopardy!’ music?” he wondered.

She scowled at him. “Pink,” she answered.

“White,” Spike disagreed.

She scowled harder. “Next question: ‘What color is a Remy Martin bottle?’”

“Green,” Spike replied immediately.

“Yeah, you get the easy ones…” she complained, moving on to another question.

When they’d finished all the questions on that card, Spike had one point – the towel was white in the painting. She slid that card over to his side of the seat and began the next set of questions.

“’Who was the lead guitarist for ‘ _The Band_ ’’?”

“Robbie Robertson,” Spike supplied.

Buffy snorted. “Well, everyone knows that,” she groused. _Never heard of them or him._ “’What did the Greek orator Demosthenes put in his mouth to improve his speech?’” She frowned again. “What kind of stupid question is that?”

Spike smirked. “Don’t they have a ‘Trivial Pursuit for Slayers’ with questions like, ‘What color is the sky’?”

“Shut up, I’m thinking here,” she complained. “Braces,” she answered after a few moments, making Spike bark out a laugh loud enough to wake up the dog.

“What’s so funny?” she grumbled.

“Don’t reckon they had braces in the three-hundreds BC, pet,” he explained. “’Pebbles’ is the answer.”

“Like, Fruity Pebbles?! The cereal? How…”

“Not the bloody cereal! Pebbles, stones,” Spike repeated.

“As in rocks?” Buffy questioned, turning the card over to look. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Spike laughed harder.

“Shut up,” she grumbled, searching through the cards for some questions she had a chance at. Where were the ones about Wile E. Coyote and The Backstreet Boys and the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers her mom used to ask her? Clearly, her mother hadn’t sent those cards! Buffy started firing off questions to Spike as she sifted through them, all of which he answered correctly.

“What kind of craft was the mast atop the Empire State Building intended to moor?”

“Blimps.”

“Wrong! ‘Dirigibles’,” Buffy informed him haughtily when he finally missed one.

Spike snorted. “Blimps _are_ dirigibles,” he asserted.

“ _Pfft_ , says you,” she complained. “’What’s one-third of one-third?’”

“One-ninth.”

“’Which of The Beatles does Sinclair Lewis’ Babbit share his first name with?’”

“George Harrison.”

“’What’s the road to hell paved with?’”

“Slayers,” Spike replied, grinning at her.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “What did you do, pay attention in school or something?” she asked, looking through the cards to try and find something he wouldn’t know.

Spike shrugged. “Been around a while. Picked stuff up watchin’ ‘Jeopardy!’ the last hundred years, didn’t I?”

“Alex Trebek isn’t that old,” she contended.

“Heard he’s actually a robot … one o’ those android things, looks human,” Spike replied.

“’Which way does Pac-Man face as the game begins?’” she tried, sure she had him now!

“Left.”

“You’ve played Pac-Man?? Are you kidding me?” Buffy demanded, gathering the cards up and putting the rubber-band back around them.

Spike snorted. “Whaddya reckon, I just spend all night terrorizing villagers and all day shaggin’ and sleepin’ it off? Fun as it is, even that gets old after a few decades.”

Buffy pulled out a Snickers bar as she tossed the cards back into the bag. “Angel wouldn’t know Pac-Man from a … a dirigible,” she contended grumpily.

“Not sure when yer gonna figure out: I’m not the incredible git,” Spike sniffed.

That point had not gone unnoticed, especially last night with his hair tousled and curling around his face, water dripping down his body, and nothing but a threadbare, hotel towel between her and the bits of him that filled out his jeans so nicely. Or when he let Spike in to comfort her – Angel would’ve never have thought of that. For that matter, she wondered if Angel would’ve even noticed that she was upset. She was not going there, however. Subject, it’s time for a change.  “You went to school, didn’t you? I mean like … college or whatever. Did they have college back then?”

“How bloody old d’ ya reckon I am, luv?” he wondered, arching a brow at her. “Not as old as Alex Trebek, I can tell ya.”

Buffy laughed, shaking her head and eating her candy bar. “You’re a strange vampire.” 

Spike shot her another wicked smile. “I’m takin’ that as a compliment, ya know?”

Buffy shrugged, not disagreeing, taking another bite of her chocolate as the night air whistled past outside her window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the questions Buffy asked were from the original Trivial Pursuit game. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> New banner by Holli117! Isn’t it cool!? And thanks to Paganbaby for the first amazing banner!
> 
> More to come soon!


	9. You Made a Bear!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pit stop turns dangerous in the wilds of Wyoming. 
> 
> No animals were harmed in the making of this chapter.

* * *

 

Spike sauntered casually down the center of the dark, two-lane road smoking his cigarette as he waited for Buffy and her sidekick to re-emerge from the woods. These last miles to the remote cabin where Dru’s kidnappers had directed him to meet them didn’t offer any amenities, so this ‘bathroom’ break had turned into a ‘wilderness’ break.

Buffy had not been pleased. Cujo, however, seemed more than happy with the adventure.

Spike had just taken another fag out of the pack when there was an ear-splitting tearing of metal and breaking of glass from behind him, in the direction of his car. He whirled around to see a huge, furry creature forcing itself through the back window of the car. At first his brain couldn’t process the sight, thinking it was the dog, but then he realized: bear! A bloody bear was breaking into his car! A bloody bear was BREAKING his car!

“Oi!” he called, dropping the cigarette as he took off in a run back toward the car, which was parked on the side of the road. “Bugger off!”

The bear pulled its front half out of the car with more bending and screeching of metal, bringing the cooler of blood with it, utterly unconcerned about Spike’s words or approach. In the next moment, the top was torn off the cooler and the bear started ripping at the containers of blood within.

“Oi!” Spike yelled again. “Let off with that, ya bastard!” he warned as he leapt in the air, duster flying out behind him like a cape, arm drawn back. His fist slammed into the side of the bear’s head as he sailed past, though what was hurt worse in the exchange – Spike’s hand or the bear’s head – was hard to say.

The bear roared in surprise and pain, dropping the cooler as it turned, snarling in anger, to face its attacker. The force of his fist’s impact with the bear spun Spike around in midair and left him off-balance as he landed. He rolled like an out-of-control log on the asphalt for several feet, before regaining control and bouncing back up to his feet. He shook his damaged fist, trying to get some feeling back into it other than shooting pain, as he turned back to face the hard-headed bugger who’d damaged his car.

Spike had no sooner gotten turned back around than the growling, angry creature was on him, ripping and tearing at him with long, razor-sharp claws. The bear was massive – easily as large and heavy as the largest Fyarl demon Spike had ever faced, and twice as angry. Spike gasped in pain and surprise, his demon rising in an instant, as he dodged away from the enormous, raging animal. Spike was fast, but so was the bear, and its long reach gave the furry predator the advantage, catching Spike by the neck and yanking him back with one massive paw.

The two combatants came together with matching growls and snarls of fury. Fangs flashed, and claws ripped. Flesh and fur and blood flew. Predator against predator. Strength against strength.

With a lunge at Spike’s neck, the enormous bear knocked Spike down onto his back with a heavy ‘ _thud’_ against the cool pavement. His head bounced when it hit, sending stars shooting over the vampire’s vision, momentarily stunning him. He could feel the hot breath of the bear as its jaws descended toward his neck, and he shook off the dizziness with a surge of panic.  He braced his forearm against the bear’s throat, stopping the advance of those powerful jaws. With a grunt of effort, Spike managed to get both hands around the bear’s neck and pressed up, pushing the huge animal back. He locked his arms, keeping the snapping jaws from ripping his throat open and took that small moment of respite to yell out, “SLAYER!”

The sound must’ve angered the bear further, because suddenly the respite was over and those slathering, snapping jaws were once again descending toward Spike’s neck. Spike groaned with pain and effort, trying to push back, but the bear’s strength and weight forced his arms to bend, despite his will and preternatural strength. Realizing he needed a new strategy, Spike whipped his body and rolled to the side with all this strength. He knocked the bear sideways and followed it over, gaining the advantage, but not for long. Spike was strong, but so was the bear, and the bear outweighed him by an outrageous amount. If Angel was an ‘enormous git’, then the bear was a ‘massive, gargantuan, colossal git’ … squared.

With more roars and growls and flashing of fangs, the two combatants rolled over the smooth asphalt, one on top for a moment, then the other. Spike punched and kneed the bear, but wasn’t sure if the bear even felt his blows. He ripped at it with his fangs, but came away with only a mouthful of gritty fur. The only damage he knew he’d inflicted were some gouges to its neck and face with his claws, but he’d not managed to get to any of the really vulnerable spots, like eyes or belly. The bear was taking a much heavier toll on Spike than Spike was on it. Each rake of claw or nip of teeth shredded flesh, leaving Spike bleeding, bruised, and quickly weakening.

“SLAYER!” he tried again when he could finally draw in some breath.

They rolled again, bringing Spike to the top once more. He had just gotten an arm free and had a bead on the bear’s eyes when another massive wrecking-ball of fur slammed into him, knocking Spike off the bear. Spike rolled with the new combatant across the road and off the pavement, coming to a sprawling stop in the dew-damp grass on the shoulder. He’d just drawn back his fist to strike the new attacker when he saw a flash of silver-blue power crackle in the beast’s eyes.

“Cujo,” he groaned in relief, dropping his fist and letting his head fall back onto the soft grass. “Took ya bloody long enough.”

The dog disentangled himself from the vampire and leapt back to his feet, snarling and growling at the approaching bear, interspersing himself between it and Spike. The bear growled and gnashed its fangs, and the Guardian of the Twilight returned the gesture with a flash of demonic power. The bear pounced toward the dog on all fours, a bluff more than an actual attack, and again, the dog mimicked it, bouncing on his front paws with a subsonic rumble of warning trembling from his chest.  The bear ripped at the pavement with his claws, digging deep furrows in the asphalt, and the dog kicked his back feet out, raking his nails over the pavement with tiny blue sparks of friction.

“Spike!” Buffy called, running up from the other side of the road, the beam of her flashlight bouncing around wildly as she moved. She came to a skidding halt when she took in the scene, her breath catching in her throat.

The bear turned halfway so it could see her and the dog too. Spike moved with it, keeping himself in front of the big bear, between it and both of his allies, still snarling his warning.

The bear took a threatening step toward Buffy, who had a stake out in a flash. She moved up slowly toward her dog, shining her light in the bear’s face and making it wince away from the brightness. The dog growled again, the sound of it echoing through the trees and down the stark, deserted road. Finally, the bear huffed disdainfully, turned, and began to lumber down the road. When the road curved, the bear continued straight, disappearing into the dark woods.

“Are you alright, Spike?! Jesus! What happened!?” she exclaimed when she got the lump of fear out of her throat.

“Do I look like I’m alright, ya dizzy bint?” Spike grumbled, not moving from the spot he’d landed several feet away.

Buffy dropped to her knees next to the dog, setting the light down and tucking the stake away. She began urgently running her hands over his flanks and legs, checking for blood and injuries and speaking to him in a soft, soothing, worried voice.

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. Of course. She hadn’t been talkin’ to him. “Ta ever so for the concern,” he grumbled, trying to check his own injuries, running a hand down over his tattered and bleeding chest and stomach.

The dog nuzzled Buffy’s neck and let out a reassuring chuffing bark before leaning against her and knocking her onto her ass. Buffy laughed as he flopped down next to her and rolled over onto his back, requesting belly rubs.

“Who’s a good boy? Huh? Spike’s a good boy, isn’t he?” she baby-talked the dog as she rubbed his belly.

“Bloody hell,” the vampire moaned. “Stop, yer makin’ me sick.”

“Someone’s being a baby,” Buffy said, giving the dog one last long rub and standing back up. She picked her light up and walked over to the prone vampire. “What did you do? Get bored and decide to pick a fight with a bear?” she wondered, sweeping her light over his bleeding, battered, and bruised body. His shirt was shredded, his jeans were well on the way, too, and the flesh beneath was soaked in blood.

“Florence bloody Nightingale you aren’t, pet,” he muttered, trying to breathe through the pain that was starting to outpace the quickly-fading adrenaline.

Buffy squatted down on her heels next to him and reached out a hand to examine his wounds more closely, shining her light on them to get a better look. She couldn’t help but grimace then as she realized how deep some of the gouges were and that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t being a big baby drama-queen about it like she’d thought.

“What the hell happened?” she asked again.

“Bear …” Spike muttered, pressing his hands over the worst of the wounds, trying to staunch the bleeding and keep his insides inside.

“Thank you, Mr. Obvious. You actually picked a fight with a bear?”

“Nooo… Bear breakin’ into the car, tried t’ stop it,” he explained.

“Oh. Well … ummm … good job. I think you saved your car … not so sure about your intestines, though. You don’t actually need those, do you?”

“If it’s all the same t’ you, I’d rather keep ‘em,” he contended, his face contorted into a grimace of pain.

The dog walked up onto the other side of the vampire and began licking some of the wounds, whimpering lightly under his breath in sympathy.

“Spike! Gross!” Buffy complained, her face contorting in disgust.

The big dog looked up at her, cocking his head curiously, then went back to what he’d been doing. _Tasty rabbit._

“Stake me now,” Spike grumbled, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Don’t tempt me,” Buffy retorted. “C’mon, can you walk?”

Spike shook his head, swatting the dog away from where he’d been licking his neck, but said, “I reckon.”

Buffy wrapped an arm around his shoulders and got him to a seated position, then helped pull him up to his feet as he gasped and growled and groaned with the effort and pain. She pulled one of his arms over her shoulders and helped him back over to the car. Once there, she leaned him up against the driver’s side, front quarter-panel. As soon as she released him, he slid down onto his butt, leaning against the front tire, still gripping his stomach tightly.

She shined her light around the car to see what had been damaged. The back window on the passenger side had been broken out, the frame around the window bent a bit. Nothing that probably couldn’t be fixed, but what couldn’t be fixed was the cooler of blood that lay soaking into the dirt and grass. “Damn it,” she muttered, picking up the cooler to try and salvage something, but there was hardly any blood left in the remaining containers – they’d all spilled when it had been dropped.

Buffy walked back around the car with the decimated cooler, showing it to Spike.

He rolled his eyes to the sky, leaning his head back against the tire. “I’m gonna need blood t’ heal,” he said.

Buffy sighed. “There’s a little in here. It’ll have to do until we can get more tomorrow.”

“Nooo … won’t bloody do, Slayer,” Spike argued, turning to look at her. “Gotta get Dru tonight.”

“Why tonight? Why don’t we find a town and I’ll get some blood when the stores open and…?”

“Cos this is the seventh day. Had seven days – this is it,” Spike explained.

“What? No … we’ve only been gone—”

“But I didn’t come to Sunnyhell right off, did I? Tried t’ get her on my own first. This is the last day – gotta get her by sunrise.”

“Oh, my God, you … you … annoying, infuriating, evil, blood-sucking pain in my ass! A _rgh_!” Buffy screeched, turning in place and looking up at the starry sky for some strength from above.

“Need blood. Now. And I see one tasty Happy Meal right in front o’ me,” Spike suggested, his grimace of pain turning into a predatory leer.

Her head snapped back down and she glared at him. “In what warped version of reality do you think I’d ever let you drink from me? I should’ve dusted you and Dru … I should’ve never let you just leave town!”

“Too late for that now, Slayer. You want to save the mutt? Then open a vein.”

“Not. Happening,” she snarled at him.

“Well, best say your goodbyes to Cujo, then,” he sniffed. “If Dru dusts, so does the mutt.”

Said mutt stalked up to where Spike sat on the ground, his eyes narrowed and growl rumbling in warning. Spike turned to the dog so Buffy couldn’t see and winked, making the dog furrow his brows. He sat down next to the vampire, curious eyes watching the white rabbit carefully.

“What’s it gonna be, Slayer?” Spike pressed as the dog began licking more blood off his arm. “Promise t’ make it good for you,” he purred.

“You are such a pig! It’s gonna be a big, fat, capital ‘NO’, is what it’s gonna be, so just forget it!” she retorted as she began pacing back and forth across the road, thinking.

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. It was worth a shot. “D’ya at least have some soddin’ bandages in one of those hundred bags ya got stuffed in my trunk?”

Buffy stopped and scowled at him a moment before stalking over to the car, grabbing the keys from the ignition, and opening the trunk. She rummaged around in the various bags a few moments before finding the one she wanted and hauling it out.

Returning to where Spike was sitting against the front driver’s side tire, she reached in the window and turned the headlights on so she could see, sliding the keys back into the ignition. “C’mon, you stupid vampire,” she grumbled, reaching down and dragging him to his feet by the back of his duster.

Spike howled in pain, doubling over to hold his stomach. “Bloody hell! Who taught you bedside manners, Slayer? The Marquis de Sade?”

“I can put you out of your misery,” she offered, producing a stake in the blink of an eye. “Just say the word.”

Spike pursed his lips, reopening a gash across his cheek, glaring at her. “If not for you, wouldn’t be in this soddin’ mess,” he asserted.

“Me?!? ME!?” she screeched back. “How is any of this MY fault?”

“You and your bathroom breaks and pig’s blood! Didn’t have any trouble the first time I was out here, did I? Not a bear to be seen!” he groused as she helped him, none too gently, to sit up on the hood of the car, drawing more gasps from him.

“I didn’t _make_ the stupid bear!” she pointed out.

“You might as well have!” he asserted, scowling at her.

“I think you need to start looking a little closer to home for who’s to blame, Spike! I’m not the one who stole a Guardian of the Twilight, am I? Or went around blabbing to everybody about it! I’m not the one who got myself kidnapped! This is all your crazy ho’ of a girlfriend’s doing!” Buffy insisted as she began cutting his shredded shirt off him with a pair of scissors from the bag.

“Oi!” Spike objected as he gingerly removed his hands from the deep gash in his stomach so she could pull the fabric away. It came off with soft squelching sounds where it was stuck to the drying blood. “Had just about enough of you talking ‘bout Dru like that!”

“Truth hurts, huh?” she snarked, frowning at the multiple lacerations across his torso, shoulders to hips, including three deep slashes that appeared to have been made by Freddy Krueger. Those showed her things about Spike that she really wished she hadn’t seen – like his literal guts.

She lifted her eyes up to meet his in the odd, reflected glow of the headlights. “What am I supposed to do with that?” she asked, waving a hand at the oozing, gaping wounds.

“Jus’ wrap ‘em up. With a bit of blood—”

“Which you will not be getting from me,” she interjected acerbically.

Spike clenched his jaw, glaring at her. “With a bit o’ blood, it’ll heal. Without it, dunno how I’ll be of any use gettin’ Dru back.”

“Let me worry about that,” she grumbled. “Can you get your coat off?”

A muscle in Spike’s cheek bulged as he clenched his jaw, the tendons in his neck standing out like taut wires as he tried to shrug out of it.

Buffy sighed and began to help him, pressing it down off his shoulders, then tugging the sleeves off his arms. Spike was panting hard by the time it was off, his eyes closed tightly against the searing daggers that seemed to slash anew across his torso with every movement.

“Why do you do that?” she wondered as she peeled his bloody and tattered t-shirt off him.

“Hurts…” he ground out as she moved his arms to get the shirt off.

“Yeah, no … I get that, but why with the breathing?” she clarified, bending down to the bag of first aid supplies and pulling out wide rolls of gauze.

“Helps,” he told her, finally opening his eyes to look at her.

“But … you don’t need oxygen. I’m not sure how that actually helps,” she pointed out.

“Just does. Habit, I reckon, leftover from … before.”

“You seem to have a few of those,” she observed dryly as she opened the packs of gauze.

“That a complaint or a compliment, Slayer?” he wondered, his eyes narrowing, studying her.

She shrugged, not answering. “Can you hold your arms up?”

Spike noted her lack of response, lifting his arms gingerly up and away from his body. He grimaced as he laced his battered fingers behind his neck, keeping his arms up out of her way. Buffy began wrapping him up like a mummy.

“Tighter,” Spike gasped, his eyes closed against the pain of just keeping his arms up and his torso straight. Every ripped muscle screamed in searing agony as he stretched them, the slashes gaping open, bleeding more than the token black guy in a slasher movie. Spike wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and die for a while. He clenched his jaw, sending more blood trickling down from the cuts on his face, and forced himself to stay put as she worked.

Buffy obliged, wrapping the gauze as tightly as she thought it would stand without tearing. “Like that?”

He gave a short nod, his eyes still closed, taking in rasping breaths through his gritted teeth.

His demon surged to the surface as she leaned into him to pass the roll around his back.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

“Can’t help it,” he breathed through his fangs. “Smell like bloody ambrosia, you do.”

“And you’re gonna smell like a big ole pile of dust if you try to bite me,” she threatened.

“Just get on with it and stop bein’ such a baby,” he retorted.

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes. HE was calling HER a baby? That’s rich. “I’m the bitch. You’re the big baby,” she reminded him.

“Right. Must be the pain foggin’ my brain.”

“That’s what you get for picking a fight with a bear,” she asserted as she worked.

“Do a bloke a favor. Tell everyone I won that, eh?”

Buffy snorted. “I think my dog saved your sorry ass.”

“Hence, Spike won,” he contended, opening his saffron eyes to look at her.

Buffy rolled her eyes, but a small smile quirked her lips as her eyes met his. He expected her to flinch back, most humans did if they were lucid, especially this close, but not this girl. No, not this magnificent force of nature. She didn’t cower away from danger or back down from the predator, she held his gaze long enough to make the monster uncomfortable – and she bloody well knew it, too.

“Hold this,” she instructed finally, pressing on the end of the gauze where it rested against his ribs.

Spike obliged with another wince from the movement as she leaned down and got out the duct tape from the bag. “Medical grade duct tape, is it?” he questioned as she began securing the gauze with it, wrapping his torso with the strong, grey tape.

“Way cheaper than that white medical stuff, and holds better,” she explained with a shrug. “Pretty sure you won’t be getting an infection, anyway.”

“Reckon a drop or two o’ Slayer blood would make sure—”

Buffy turned impatient eyes on him. “You have a hard time with ‘no’, don’t you? Here’s the rule – no means no. I bet if you put your thinking cap on and try hard enough, you’ll be able to remember it.”

“Can’t blame a bloke for tryin’,” he asserted with a shrug that sent daggers stabbing into his chest and stomach.

She blew out an impatient breath through her nose as she finished taping up his torso, then turned her attention to his legs. “Does anything down here need bandaging?” she asked, trying to see how deep the cuts were through the slashes in the denim on his thighs.

“Reckon it’s alright,” he replied, reaching a hand down tentatively to check for himself, running his bruised and battered fingers over the various cuts and slashes.

“Are you sure? Should I check?” she wondered, looking concerned.

“Slayer, are you tryin’ to get me outta my jeans?” he teased.

“Don’t be a pig,” she admonished him, turning away and going to the back of the car to retrieve a new t-shirt for him.  Not like she hadn’t seen it before. Though a longer look than that glimpse she’d gotten the previous morning wouldn’t hurt. All in the name of medical treatment, of course.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she muttered to herself with a little shrug.

Spike smirked, hearing her clearly. This girl definitely doth protest too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> New banner by Holli117! Isn’t it cool!? And thanks to Paganbaby for the first amazing banner!
> 
> More to come soon!


	10. Friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes confront the kidnappers.

* * *

 

After a quick recon, Buffy returned to the car, slipping silent and unseen through the dense woods around the cabin. The DeSoto was parked a couple of hundred yards from where the kidnappers were holed up, pulled far off to the side of the dark road, sitting silent and nearly invisible in the moonless night. Spike was slumped over the wheel and didn’t rouse at her approach.

After getting Spike bandaged up as well as she could, the smarter of the two Spikes took matters into his own paws.  He had disappeared into the wildlife-rich wilderness, only to return a few minutes later with a large, stunned, but not dead, rabbit – an actual rabbit. He’d presented it proudly to the vampire, dropping it as his feet, before sitting down in front of him, and letting his mouth loll open into a doggie-grin.

“Looks like you’ve got some blood,” Buffy had proclaimed, arching a brow at the blond, while patting an approving hand down on the big dog’s head.

Spike tried not to scowl. Wasn’t the kind of blood he wanted, that as for sure. Animal blood was gamey, sometimes downright bitter, and just didn’t have the kick that human – or Slayer – blood did. And just where the bloody hell do ya bite a soddin’ rabbit? It was so small compared to a human, that it hardly seemed worth getting all that hair stuck in his fangs.

“Woof!” Spike encouraged, nosing the rabbit closer to the vampire’s feet, then picking it back up and practically handing it to him.

“Ta ever so,” Spike grunted out, taking the limp creature from the dog’s big jaws. He wrinkled his nose at the slobber that coated the thing, trying to figure out how to decline the offering without pissing the big dog off.

“Rrr-woof!” Spike replied happily, before quickly turning and heading back into the woods.

“Oi!” Spike called after him. “One’s enough, yeah?” But the dog wasn’t listening.

Spike sighed.

“Don’t be a baby,” Buffy admonished him. “It’s blood; it’s more than you’ll get from me.”

“Stubborn bint,” he grumbled, looking the rabbit. “Just a sip or two o’ Slayer blood…”

“Will not be forthcoming,” Buffy finished for him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Eat up like a good little vampire.”

Spike had eaten. Two rabbits and a raccoon. He’d drawn the line at the opossum, however. It stunk to high heaven, and, though he’d never puked as a vampire, he was sure tasting that blood would’ve done it. After that, Buffy had offered to drive the rest of the way, but he wouldn’t hear of it, insisting he could manage. He had, but clearly it had taken a lot out of him.

“Spike,” she whispered, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder through the open driver’s side window. “Wake up.”

Spike sat bolt-upright in the seat, eyes flashing golden as he captured her wrist in a vise-like grip. “Gardyloo!” he exclaimed, looking around, trying to get his bearings.

“Spike! It’s me,” she growled, yanking her hand free. “Are you okay?”

He groaned, wrapped his arms around his stomach and leaned his forehead back against the wheel. “Brilliant.”

She huffed out a breath. “You look brilliant,” she agreed sarcastically. “I couldn’t find any way into the house other than through the front door. They’ve got all the windows locked down like Fort Knox. I couldn’t tell if Dru was even in there, but there is a light I could see through some small cracks.”

“What’s the plan, then?” he asked, still slumped over the wheel, his eyes clamped tightly closed.

Buffy sighed and stood up, leaning her back against his door, looking out into the night. “I’m idea-less,” she admitted. “Other than walking up and knocking on the door and announcing, ‘Welcome Wagon!’”

“They could kill you,” he said worriedly, lifting his head up to look at her, but all he could see was her back, the soft curve of her body outlined against the darkness.

“Aww, you’re worried. How sweet,” she cooed sarcastically. “Afraid they’ll kill me before you get a chance to, huh?”

“Worried if ya don’t get Dru in the next three hours, the prats’ll dust her,” he contended. “And, yeah … the other thing, too. I got dibs on killing you, everybody else can just get in bloody line.”

Buffy snorted, shaking her head, trying to think. Finally, she took in a deep breath and let it out in a determined huff before turning and opening the back door. “C’mon, Spike, let’s go play nice with the kidnappers,” she said to the dog.

“Are you daft?” Spike objected. “Ya can’t give ‘em the mutt before they give us Dru! Haven’t you watched any of those soddin’ movies? Ya never pay the berks!”

“Not planning on giving them the dog. He’s my character witness. Gonna ask them nicely to let Dru go and let me keep Spike,” she explained.

“You sure that bear didn’t hit you on the head?” Spike wondered acerbically. “You’re going with your mum’s daft plan?”

“Do you have a better idea? I don’t see any way for me to get into the house otherwise. I have no idea who I’m dealing with, how many, or anything until I get in there. I can’t just start battering down the door without any clue what’s inside. I don’t even know if Dru is here,” she defended as the big dog eagerly joined her, tail wagging as he paced around her, waiting for instructions.

“So, you’re gonna play nice, then, that it?” he questioned. “You. The queen of the bitches.”

Buffy scowled at him. “I’m not the queen. Did you never meet Cordelia or Harmony? Seriously, I’m like the treasurer at most,” she asserted, lifting her chin defiantly. “If we’re not back by sunrise, try not to fry.”

“Oh, bloody wonderful!” he groused, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel and gasping in pain from the movement.

“You may want to stop doing that, too. We might need a quick getaway, so don’t pass out.”

Spike snorted, shaking his head. “This is the Slayer that thwarted my every plan. I am deeply ashamed.”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she and the big dog began walking back down the road toward the cabin. “Here’s the plan,” she said as they walked. “You keep them distracted while I look for Dru, okay? Try not to hurt them … but don’t let them hurt you or take you away, okay?”

“Whoof!”

“Okay, let’s go be nice-ish.”

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy knocked on the heavy, wooden door of the cabin and planted her best cheerleader smile on her face as she waited, hope warring with fear in her stomach and creating utter turmoil. She couldn’t fail at this. She couldn’t lose Spike. It just wasn’t an option.

High up in the door a small window slid open, making Buffy jump and look up in surprise. Two dark eyes glared out at her from the opening. She re-established her smile and cleared her throat. “Um, hi!” she began brightly. “I’m Buffy … the Vampire Slayer? And, ummm, I think we have a mutual friend,” she continued, waving a hand down at the big dog at her side.

The dark eyes tracked downwards with her motion, taking in the dog, then back up to her, but didn’t speak.

“I, ummm, was wondering if we could talk?” she continued. “Maybe … inside? Cos, my friend already had a fight with a bear, and I’ve decided I’m not really a bear person. Actually, we’re both firmly anti-bear. Well, teddy-bears are okay, but, you know, these big ones? Not so much.”

She widened her smile again, doing her best to look non-threatening. Just a girl. Out for a walk. In the middle of nowhere. With a huge dog. That could rip your head off. Nothing to see here.

The man grunted, and the little window slammed closed, making Buffy jump. What did that mean? She looked down at Spike and he seemed to shrug. “Whoof!” he said to the closed door in a loud voice.

Buffy heard something being moved around inside and then bolts being slid back. Her heart skipped a few beats in anticipation – this was it – _showtime_.

“You ready?” she whispered to the dog.

“Rrrrrawrf,” he half-growled back at her, his brown eyes glittering with excitement, his long, furry tail whipping wildly in the cool night air.

As soon as the door opened Spike sprang through it. He crashed into the man on the other side, his paws on the gypsy’s shoulders, and drove him down onto the floor with a ‘ _thud’_.

“Oh, shit!” Buffy exclaimed, as she followed the dog in, her anxiety growing. Clearly Spike hadn’t understood the mission! So much for playing nice.

 ** X-X-X-X-X **

“ _Whoof! Whoof!”_ Spike called to the white rabbit as he ran up the road toward the metal box on wheels.

The vampire flicked his fag out the window and pushed the door open, struggling up to his feet, fueled by nothing but fear and adrenaline. “Where’s the Slayer?” he demanded of the dog.

The Guardian whirled, looking back toward the cabin, then back around to face the rabbit. “Whoof!” he demanded.

“Down the soddin’ well then, eh, Lassie?” Spike muttered, clutching his stomach as he began stumbling slowly down the road toward the cabin, leaning heavily on the hood of the car as he moved. “Dunno what she expected with that bloody plan! Not even my plans are that daft!”

“WHOOF!” the dog insisted, jumping into the front seat of the car and sitting down in the passenger’s seat, looking out the window expectantly.

The vampire stopped and looked at the dog, then down the road. “She wants me t’ bring the car?” he questioned, limping back toward the open door.

“Rrrawrff!” Spike confirmed, snuffling at the steering wheel excitedly.

“Why didn’t ya say so in the first place, ya berk?” Spike complained.

The big dog huffed out an impatient breath.

Spike slid back behind the wheel with a gasp of stabbing, burning pain. He pushed it away as he started the car. Pain could wait, the Slayer, and Dru, couldn’t. He sent a prayer to whatever demonic angels may be listening that the Slayer had managed to locate Dru … and hadn’t gotten herself killed in the process. He’d called dibs on that honor over a year ago. Dru, he knew, was not dust. He’d know if she was; the Slayer, however …

Spike pulled up at the end of the narrow drive that led to the cabin just as Buffy emerged onto the road, laden down with a lace and velvet burden that was draped over her shoulder. Spike let out a breath that he’d not been aware he’d been holding – not that it signified. He didn’t need breath, did he?

“Took you long enough,” she grumbled, pulling the back door open and tumbling Dru’s limp form inside. Dru’s head might’ve smacked against the door frame as she went in.

“You got ‘er! How’d ya get ‘er? Bloody hell! What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, flinging his door open without thought of his injuries.

“She’s fine. Just drugged,” Buffy explained, shoving the vampiress over to make some room for the big dog.

Spike gasped in pain and nearly fell getting out of the car, barely catching himself on the door before his ass hit the pavement. Within a moment, though, he was moving to the back door and pulling it open, dropping to his knees and pulling his dark princess’ cheek against his. Spike’s hands cupped her head reverently, as if she were made of delicate crystal. His eyes closed in silent relief as he took in her scent, the feel of her smooth, porcelain skin, the reality of her return to him.

“Drusilla, luv, can ya hear me? Spike’s here now, baby. I’ve got you. Gonna be alright now, my princess,” he whispered against her ear as he gently stroked her matted and grimy hair.

Buffy felt a little stab of jealousy twist in her gut. Not over Spike. Clearly, not. She simply wondered if anyone would ever love her the way Spike loved Drusilla.  Would anyone go through what Spike had to get her back if she’d been kidnapped? He’d taken a huge chance coming back to Sunnydale, then trying to steal her dog – both of which could’ve gotten him staked. Then he’d made another deal with her, even somehow making friends with the damn dog, who hated all vampires with a white-hot passion. All vampires except Spike, apparently. Spike had been ravaged by a freaking bear – Buffy had no idea how he was even conscious – and yet, here he was fawning and worrying over this woman he called his ‘destiny’. 

Would Buffy ever be anyone’s destiny?

She swallowed her emotions and walked away a few steps, ostensibly to give Spike some privacy. In fact, she was giving herself time to stuff her own fears, insecurities, and doubts back into their gilded cages. Her doubts about Angel and his motivations and feelings for her resurfaced in the most painful way possible. Here was a soulless monster cooing soft, sweet assurances to his beloved. Once again, the glaring differences between Spike and Angelus began to whirl through her mind, confounding and confusing her. Which one was the aberration? Or were vampires, like the people they once were, each different, with varied abilities and personalities?

_No, no, no, no_. That way madness lies. Vampires are evil. Demons are evil.  

She turned back and watched Spike, still on his knees, touching soft kisses over his sire’s pale, slack face and sighed. Vampires are evil … except when they aren’t? She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion, and walked back over to the car. “She’ll be okay,” Buffy assured him. “But we should probably go.”

Spike nodded, smoothing out Dru’s hair as best he could and settling her into a comfortable position on the seat.

When the blond vampire withdrew, Buffy commanded, “Spike – guard.” The big dog, who had been watching everything from the front seat, squeezed his large body over the seatback and into the back, landing in a heap of fur and muscle atop the unconscious Dru.

“Oi!” Spike complained, supporting himself against the car in the open back door.

“He’s not hurting her,” Buffy contended, closing the back door on her side and opening the front to get in. “Let’s go,” she instructed, pulling her door closed. “Before someone changes their mind.”

The vampire let out a low, warning growl at the dog, who simply cocked his head to one side in interest as he settled down atop the prone vampiress. “I bloody mean it,” Spike told him with a warning shake of one bruised, swollen finger at the big puppy. In reply, the dog settled his head down on Dru’s shoulder, seeming to pay no heed to the vampire’s warning.

Spike scowled and backed up, closing the door on the two in the back, before limping back to the front and sliding in the car with a grunt of pain.

“You okay to drive?” Buffy asked worriedly.

“I’ll do,” he hissed out as he dragged his body around in the seat and got his legs positioned on the floorboard with more grunts and growls of discomfort.

Buffy looked at him skeptically, but Spike put the car into gear, turned the wheel and pulled back onto the pavement, kicking up gravel in their wake as the car fishtailed and then settled as they sped away.

“What happened?” he asked, glancing over at her, looking for wounds. He hadn’t really paid much attention to the Slayer in his concern for Dru, but he didn’t smell any blood. “How’d ya get ‘er?”

Buffy shrugged. “I asked nicely.”

Spike’s brows furrowed. “You’re jokin’.”

“Nope,” Buffy said sharply. “Not everyone thinks I’m a bitch. Some people actually like me.”

Spike snorted. At Buffy’s glare he cleared his throat. “Well, yeah … I reckon that’s possible,” he agreed. “So, they just gave ‘er to ya?”

“Well, after Spike knocked the old guy down and practically licked him to death, and I explained who I was and stuff. He seemed happy that I’d ended up with him, you know, since the whole Vampire Slayer thing and Spike being kind of a vampire slayer, too,” she explained. “He seemed to think it was kissy met.”

Spike arched a brow. “Kismet?” he questioned. “Means ‘fate’.”

“Oh …” Buffy shrugged. “I thought it had to do with … never mind.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “And Dru? How’d ya manage that?” Spike wondered, trying to turn to check on his black beauty, but the pain in his abdomen stopped him.

Buffy sighed. “I had to lie and say she helped me … that we had a truce, a deal, and that it was her that helped me stop the world from ending and gave me the dog, thinking it should be with me. It took a bit of doing, but he finally agreed to let me take her and keep Spike, too.”

Spike scowled, anger bubbling up inside him, and turned his attention back to the road. What did it matter that she’d given Dru the credit that was his? Not that the damn gypsy would know or care one way or the other. The Slayer knew the truth, that was what mattered, right? What bloody difference did it make? She’d gotten Dru out, that was the bloody point. That was all that mattered. Still, for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d had something stolen from him.

“I told him to leave you guys alone – both of you – that we’re … uh … friends,” she admitted.

Spike arched a brow at her. “Friends now, is it?”

Buffy shrugged, reaching a hand back over the seat to pet Spike, who was watching the limp vampire closely. “Mortal enemies, friends – you say po-tah-to, I say po-tay-to.”

Spike snorted and turned onto the main highway, heading east.

“Uh, not that I’m any Sacagawea or anything, but shouldn’t we be going home? As in … that-a-way?” Buffy wondered, pointing west.

“Sun’ll be up soon. Nearest town is east o’ here. We’ll head back west tonight,” he explained.

Buffy’s throat tightened up, her body thrumming with sudden tension. _Vampires are evil._ The dog picked up on it and began rumbling a low growl in his chest, looking from the unconscious bony rabbit beneath him to the white rabbit, trying to find the threat.

Spike looked over at her, picking up on the sudden tension too, even without the growling dog’s warning. “Think I’m takin’ ya off to end you, that it?”

“Maybe. We are _friends_ , after all,” Buffy replied cautiously, slipping her hand behind her back and wrapping it around Mr. Pointy. “I mean, you’ve got what you wanted. You don’t really need me and Spike anymore, do you?”

“Keep my word, don’t I?”

“Not really … or you wouldn’t have come back to Sunnydale,” Buffy reminded him.

“Will you let off with that bollocks? Kept my word when it really mattered, helped ya with Angel, kept the Watcher alive,” he defended. “Told you before, I’m not a welcher. Gave my word to yer mum – made a deal with you and your mutt. Not going back on it.”

“Dru didn’t make any deals. What happens when she wakes up?” Buffy pointed out.

“I can handle Dru,” Spike sniffed confidently, speeding down the highway, heading away from California.

“I don’t think you could handle a flea on a demon’s back in the shape you’re in,” Buffy pointed out, reaching a hand out and poking him in the ribs.

Spike gasped and bent over at the waist, his chest nearly hitting the steering wheel. “I can bloody well handle Drusilla,” he ground out, panting to get the pain shoved back into the Angelus-shaped box inside his mind he kept for such things. “Handled her for over a century, haven’t I?”

Buffy stared at him, her eyes hard and brittle. “If you try to double-cross me, I will end you both. I swear to God.”

Spike pursed his lips, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Not sure when you’re gonna figure out I’m not Angel. Not gonna use you and dump ya like a two-bit whore, am I?”

Buffy felt hot tears sting her eyes as old, hurtful words rang in her mind, ‘ _You were great. Really. I thought you were a pro.’_  The things Spike said about Angel’s life before being turned slammed into her even harder.  ‘ _Use the girls – whores and virgins alike – and toss ‘em away like ragdolls, leavin’ ‘em preggers or worse. Never gave ‘em a second thought._ ’

“Fuck you, Spike,” she growled, pulling her stake out as she turned in the seat and looked out the side window, her heart constricting painfully in her chest. She clutched the stake until the wood dug into her palm, forcing the tears back, her jaw clenched, determined to not let him know he’d stung her.

Spike opened his mouth to shoot back a scathing retort, something to the effect that fucking vampires seemed to be a fetish of hers, so what would one more matter? His jaws snapped shut when the dog’s growl lowered down into a sub-sonic threat that Spike was sure only demons could hear, tingling a warning up and down the vampire’s spine.

He gritted his teeth and pressed on the accelerator as they passed a sign indicating the next town was still forty miles off, barely enough time to get there before sunrise.  _What was her problem?_ _What the hell did the_ _bloody bitch want from him, anyway?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I purposely didn’t spend a lot of time on the rescue itself; I hope you aren’t too disappointed. There are two reasons: 1) I thought it was both ironic and funny that Joyce’s plan would actually work and 2) I didn’t want to spend a lot of time on a character that we’ll likely never see again.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! What’s gonna happen when Dru wakes up? Will Spike be able to control her?
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> New banner by Holli117! Isn’t it cool!? And thanks to Paganbaby for the first amazing banner!
> 
> More to come soon!


	11. Clotted Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru wakes up.

* * *

 

In front of the motel office, Buffy got back in the car and passed a room key to Spike, her own tucked in her pocket. Dru still hadn’t woken up. From what the old gypsy, Uriah, had said, the drugs would probably wear off sometime during the day today. She hoped Spike was right – that he could control Drusilla – otherwise Buffy thought she’d have to end up dusting them both. Not that she should care. They were vampires. Evil killers. Demons. That was her Calling – to end them.

So why hadn’t she just dusted them both? Neither of them were in any condition to fight her right now – Dru was completely passed out and Spike was at maybe ¼ strength, if that. It would be easy. Was it some weird allegiance to Angel that kept her from dusting these two? They were his ‘family’, after all, even if he didn’t want to claim them. Should she have any allegiance to Angel anymore? Or was it because she’d made a deal with Spike, agreed to a truce, and she was a Slayer of her word, if nothing else.

She shook her head and gave it up. All these thoughts scuttling around in her cranium like hairy centipedes were making her brain hurt. 

Spike took the key without a word and drove down to the other end of the motel, watching for the room number on the lime-green doors. The tense silence between the two blondes continued as he parked in front of the room and got out, slowly and painfully but not silently. His grunts and snarls of pain had Buffy gritting her teeth. She was not feeling sorry for him. He was a big, fat jerk and she was angry. She liked being angry – it was familiar ground and, besides, she was really good at it.

Buffy let the dog out and headed for the back of the car to get her bags. Spike limped around the car, half doubled-over, and opened the trunk for her, still without a word. He then headed over to open the door to his room, all the while trying to figure out how he was gonna get Dru in there. He could barely carry himself the few feet from the car to the room, let alone his dead-to-the-world sire.

Buffy got the bags she needed out of the trunk and headed for her room, the dog following along at her heels. When she set the bags down to unlock the door, her roommate nudged her hand with a small whimper. When she looked down, he took a couple of halting steps back toward the car, then looked back and forth between her and the white rabbit, who was clearly struggling with getting his own bag out of the trunk. Another soft whine, his brown eyes worried and imploring.

Buffy clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes as she watched Spike limp, clutching his abdomen, dragging his bag from the car to the room. She could see blood seeping through the bandages and even the duct tape, making dark, damp blotches on his black shirt. His fingers were swollen, purple with bruising, and stained with dried blood where he clutched his stomach. The bag slipped from the damaged fingers of his other hand, the strap falling to the ground. He stopped and looked at it in dismay a moment before beginning a slow, painful decent to try and retrieve it.

_God damnit!_ She huffed out an impatient breath and stuffed her key back into her pocket before stalking back over and snatching the bag up before he could get even halfway to it.

“Big baby,” she grumbled under her breath as she stormed away with the bag, depositing it on the dresser in his room.

Spike scowled at her. “Bloody bitch,” he retorted, his voice just as low as hers.

Buffy returned from the room, pointedly rubbing the bridge of her nose with her middle finger as she headed past him, back to the car.

Spike doubled it with a two-finger salute and an exasperated huff of breath.

Without ceremony, Buffy dragged the limp vampire from the backseat by one skinny arm. Buffy might’ve banged Dru’s head against the door frame of car as she hauled her out.

“Oi!” Spike protested when he heard the ‘ _thunk’_.

“Oh, my bad,” Buffy deadpanned, rolling her eyes before hefting Dru up onto her shoulder and stalking back into Spike’s room with her. Dru was deposited unceremoniously on the one big bed in the room and Buffy was back out before Spike could even make it to the door.

Buffy slammed the trunk and the doors closed on the car and marched back over to her room, next door to Spike and Dru’s, where the dog was waiting for her.

The blond vampire sighed, stopping just outside his room as she unlocked her own door and picked up her bags. The dog trotted in ahead of her and, without a glance back at the vampire, she quickly followed.

“Slayer,” Spike appealed to her with a heavy sigh, but her door slammed closed on the word. “Stay mad, then. What the hell do I care? Don’t even know why you’re bloody mad, ya dizzy bint,” he groused as he hobbled into his room and slammed the door against the rising sun.

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy dropped her bags just inside the door and flung herself onto the nearest bed, finally letting her tears rise to the surface, flowing from her hurt and angry heart. She didn’t know why Spike’s words stung so much. She should be over all that stuff with Angelus by now, but clearly, she wasn’t. It seemed like whenever she started finding Spike the least bit tolerable or trustworthy, something would happen to make her wary again, which just pissed him off, which then pissed her off. It was a piss-aplooza.

But she’d trusted one vampire, hadn’t she? And, if Spike’s theory was right about Angel and the curse, he might’ve been playing her the entire time. He may have never actually loved her at all. How could she let herself trust another one even a little bit? It would be insane to not be wary, not be watchful and distrustful.

Right?

So, why did he take it so fucking personally? He was a vampire! A stupid, drama-queen of a vampire who got offended when she suggested that he might be less than an upstanding citizen. A freaking insane vampire is what he was! And now he had his even more insane sire with him. How was she supposed to just trust that he wouldn’t try to off her?

And how did he know just the exact button to push to twist her into knots? She had lots of buttons. Buttons for anger, for laugher, for bitchiness, for sarcasm … lots of buttons for sarcasm, but he always found the one hidden beneath all the others and punched it like some crazed gameshow contestant ringing in to win a year’s supply of kitty litter.

Buffy buried her face in the pillow to keep the sound from traveling through the thin, hotel walls as she sobbed. She didn’t want Spike to know that he could hurt her so much. It wouldn’t do for him to know how to turn her emotions against her; that could get her killed one day.

The big dog climbed up onto the double bed with a squeak of springs, and flopped down next to Buffy. She buried her face in his thick coat and rubbed a hand down along his flanks, enjoying the feel of his soft fur against her fingers. “At least you’re safe now. Uriah was so happy to see you, even though you knocked him down and practically drowned him in kisses. You knew just the right thing to do, didn’t you?”

The big dog huffed out a self-satisfied breath and nuzzled his nose against her neck.

Buffy gave him a small smile and ruffled his big ears. “Did you remember him from when you were a baby? He sure remembered you. I wonder what ‘Wuzho’ means? It must be good, just from the way he said it,” she continued.

“ _Rrrrarf_ ,” Spike agreed, snuffling against her ear, making her pull away slightly from the tickling warmth of his breath.

“You did really well, Spikey. You’re such a good boy,” she told the dog, digging her fingers into his fur. “Now, if we can just keep Spike and Dru from killing us, everything will be okay. Don’t suppose you have a brilliant plan for that, huh?”

The Guardian whined softly, settling his big head on the pillow next to hers.

“You trust Spike, don’t you?” she asked him.

“Mmmrrrrf,” he sighed.

“How do you know who to trust?” she wondered, still rubbing a hand through his thick fur.

Spike pushed himself up and trundled down off the bed, over to where Buffy had dropped the bags. She sat up, watching him curiously as he began to drag one of the duffels over to her. Buffy scooted off the bed and came over to the dog. “What?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

Spike nudged the small pocket on the outside of the bag with his nose, then looked up at her.

Buffy unzipped the compartment and looked inside cautiously before slipping her fingers in. She snorted in amusement as she pulled out a couple of packs of M&Ms and three sticks of beef jerky. Those were definitely not in that bag when she’d packed it the previous evening.

She sat down on the floor and looked at the dog. “So, you’re saying we should trust vampires who feed us?” she wondered skeptically, opening one of the beef jerky sticks and breaking off pieces for him.  He snapped each one up eagerly, barely chewing it before swallowing and ogling the next one.

“Or just strange, drama-queen vampires who leave surprises in our bags … good surprises. Not like Angelus surprises.”

“Rrrawrrf!” Spike agreed, eying the unopened sticks of jerky as slobber dripped from his oversized canines.

“You’ll ruin your breakfast,” Buffy warned him.

Spike shook his head vigorously in disagreement, rattling his tags, and slinging slobber in all directions.

“Ewww!” Buffy complained, holding her hands up in defense, but she was smiling. “We’ve talked about this! Ten feet! Ten feet away before you shake! Damn it, Spike, when are you gonna learn that?”

“Whoof!” he laughed, letting his mouth drop open in a doggie-grin as Buffy ruffled his ears and leaned in to give him a hug.

“I love you, Spikey,” she murmured against him.

Spike licked her salty face, her tears dried, his tail wagging happily.

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

** X-X-X-X-X **

A knock sounded on Spike’s door and Drusilla jerked against him in the bed, waking him from a fitful sleep. Every time he moved, daggers shot into his belly and chest from his shredded torso. Spike grimaced, sucking in a breath against the pain as she clung to him. “Spike … I feel all funny. The pixies are havin’ a party, but I’ve not been invited. They’re tap dancing on the ceiling, and the music’s all roly-poly.”

Spike gently pulled her hand away from his ravaged stomach. “Not the pixies, pet. Someone’s at the door.”

“Oh, is it the milkman? I’m ever so peckish,” she said, her wide, blue eyes shifting to gold as she looked expectantly at the door.

“I’ll see, eh?” Spike offered, slipping from her grip with more grunts and gasps of pain as he moved, ripping open gashes that had begun to heal as he’d rested. It couldn’t be later than midday, he guessed, not bothering to look at the clock.

He hobbled slowly to the door as the knocking started again. Whoever it was had just made the biggest bloody mistake of their lives – ‘bloody’ being the key word. Spike was hungry, too – more than hungry, starving – and hurting, and in no mood to hear about the Glory of God from a twat with no fashion sense.

Spike pulled the door open, ready to yank whoever was out there in, when he realized it was the Slayer. His hand stopped in mid-air, nearly to her neck, and he pulled it back quickly, trying to look nonchalant. “Oh, uhhh … it’s you.”

Buffy’s brows went up. “Expecting someone else?”

Spike sniffed and tried to straighten up, but couldn’t manage it, as the wounds in his stomach pulled and seared. “Thought it might be a burglar or whatnot.”

Buffy snorted. “Here’s a clue for future reference: burglars don’t usually knock.”

“Right—” Spike began as Dru slipped up behind him, peering past Spike to focus on Buffy.

“I know you weren’t just gonna grab someone and drag them in here to eat, were you?” Buffy continued suspiciously.

“Told ya, keep my word, don’t I?” Spike defended, his ire rising again, even though that had been his plan.

“Uh-huh,” she deadpanned. “Remember, I’m right next door, and these walls? Like paper. If you think I won’t hear you, you’re wrong. If you think I won’t dust you, also of the wrong.”

Spike started to retort, but was interrupted by his sire, “She was to be chopped into messes, my Spike … you promised mummy a party with streamers and garters dripping in rubies.”

“Told ya already, ‘ad to play nice. Just a bit longer, poodle,” Spike cajoled, keeping himself firmly planted in the open doorway.

“She dances like dandelions on sunrays … sparks and glints like diamonds in the night,” Dru declared, almost singing the words, her cadence lyrical. “I imagine she tastes like orange blossoms and moonbeams. Can we have a taste?”

Dru made to lift her hand, two fingers extended, beneath Spike’s arm and toward the Slayer. “Look at me, dearie. Be... in my eyes—"

Spike swiped down, trapping his sire’s hand between his arm and his side. “No, baby, no tastes. Not just now,” he hissed at her in a low, impatient voice.

“Not just _ever_ ,” Buffy corrected defiantly, narrowing her eyes at the now-pouting woman. “I thought you said you could control her,” she accused, shifting her gaze to Spike.

“She is bloody controlled, isn’t she?” Spike defended. “Don’t see any new holes in yer pretty, little neck, do ya?”

“Her neck is ever so pretty, like clotted cream,” Dru agreed, eyeing Buffy hungrily over Spike’s shoulder. “I should like to paint it with pret’y pictures, all in red, and spread it on scones for tea.”

“Not. Now. Dru,” Spike grunted out, elbowing her back a step.

“Why don’t you come out here and give it a try?” Buffy offered the dark vampire with a painted-on smile. She took a step to the side and waved one hand at the sunshine beyond the narrow, covered walkway outside the door.

“She sees you, my Spike,” Dru continued as if Buffy hadn’t spoken, her saffron eyes locked on Buffy as she tried to step past her childe, but he carefully slipped to the side and blocked her advance. “You see my dark, brave knight, don’t you, dearie?”

“Uh,” Buffy began sarcastically. “Hard to miss, he’s standing right here. Don’t need to put on any special crazy ho glasses to see him.”

“Don’t need eyes to see my prince’s shiniest bits. They’re all on the insides. Lurkin’ in the dark, bright and gleamin’. White horses in all their finery and frippery, they are.”

“O-kay,” Buffy droned. “Well, I guess captivity suited her; she’s as Looney Tunes as ever,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

“Oi! Did ya want something, Slayer? Or just come t’ insult me and mine some more?” Spike wondered, doing his best to keep himself between Dru and the Slayer with one hand on the door and one on the doorjamb. He wasn’t sure who he’d need to protect from who, but with his luck, he’d be the one getting the worst of anything that happened.

“Daddy can’t abide the burning, baby fishes. They’ve begun swimming all about her head. The dance is changing, my sweet William. The harps echo with wolves, making the angels all scarper like dust in the rain,” Dru continued as if Buffy and Spike hadn’t spoken.

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes, ignoring Dru. She actually _hadn’t_ come to make trouble, surprising as that was. She picked up the small cooler that she’d set down at her feet, a replacement for the one the bear destroyed. “I got you some blood,” she explained. “There’s a couple of different kinds – maybe you’ll like it better than the pig. Moose and elk, and even some buffalo. They’re all marked, so you can have a nice blood tasting party this afternoon.”

Spike’s brows went up in surprise. “Much obliged,” he acknowledged sincerely, reaching for the cooler.

“It’s no big deal,” she shrugged, taken slightly aback by the genuine appreciation in his voice. She let Spike take the blood from her hands before stepping back away from the door. “Well, you two have fun now with the harps and horses. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to work the microwave … that could keep her entertained for hours just watching things go ‘round and ‘round.”

Spike rolled his eyes, stepping forward across the threshold as she backed out. “Slayer,” he called as she started to turn away.

Buffy looked back, stopping mid-stride.

“I … uh …” he stammered, looking down awkwardly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

Buffy nodded. “Me too,” she replied softly. “Thanks for the candy … and Spike says thanks for the beef jerky.”

Spike looked up and gave her a soft smile, squaring his shoulders as much as he could as he continued to block the doorway. “Welcome. ’Preciate the blood.” He lifted the cooler up in demonstration, as if she’d forgotten already.

“I hope it helps – you know, with the healing,” she said, waving a hand at his torso. She noted he hadn’t taken any of his clothes off, not even his bloody, ripped jeans – probably because it hurt too much to even try. Why hadn’t Dru helped him, though? Clearly, she’d been awake a while, she didn’t seem woozy or anything – well, crazy, yeah, but that was normal. She couldn’t be that out of it to not even see that he needed help? That he was in pain? Could she?

“Maybe you’ll like some of that better,” Buffy continued. “It’s super-fresh according to the butcher.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if that matters.”

Spike nodded. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“Don’t make me dust you, Spike.” Buffy meant it to come out as a warning, but it sounded more like plea.

Spike snorted. “I’m too pretty t’ stake,” he joked, grinning smugly. At her arched brow, he shrugged. “Keeping my end o’ the bargain, no worries, Slayer.”

“Okay … well, you better get back in there before she tries sticking a penny in an electrical outlet or something.”

Spike snorted. “Old hat, that. Took out ten city blocks in Rome doing that in the fifties. Was bloody brilliant.”

Buffy rolled her eyes but laughed. “See you at dusk,” she said as she headed for her door.

“Right, then,” Spike agreed, giving her a short nod and a smile before turning back and disappearing into his room and closing the door.

“ _’Burning, baby fishes_.’ What a fruitcake,” Buffy muttered as she headed back to her room to get some sleep. She took a deep breath and sighed it out as she unlocked her door, feeling utterly relieved. Clearing the air with Spike felt like a weight lifting off her. 

The big dog met her at the door and she scratched his ears in greeting, still thinking about Spike. She rolled her eyes at herself. Since when did she care if Spike was mad at her, anyway? Of course, she didn’t. She was just relieved that he had blood and now he could start to heal so he wouldn’t be passing out at the wheel or anything.

Clearly, that was why she was relieved. No other reason at all.

And what the fuck was clotted cream, anyway? She rubbed at her neck. Stopping in front of the mirror, she lifted her chin and turned her head one way then the other, trying to figure it out. It didn’t feel clotted at all – and it just looked … normal. She also didn’t see a single burning, baby fish and was pretty sure she didn’t taste like moonbeams and orange blossoms. Though, what would moonbeams taste like? Well, she definitely didn’t taste like orange blossoms … more like … ‘badass’. Yep, she absolutely would taste like ‘badass’.

“You don’t think Dru’s crazy is catching, do you?” she asked her roommate, looking down at the big dog, who was watching her curiously.

Spike cocked his head to one side and let out a series of little, sorrowful, worried whines as he lowered himself down and rested his head comfortingly atop her feet.

“You’re a lot of help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holli117 for the two lovely banners!
> 
> More to come soon!


	12. Starshine in Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru is not a happy camper.

Buffy woke later with a jerk to the sound of something smashing against the wall of her room. She blinked, trying to clear the fog of sleep and remember where she was, looking in the direction of the sound. On the other bed, the dog had jumped up and was growling at the bare wall, his hackles raised all along his back. In the next moment, raised voices filtered through the thin walls.

“Bloody hell, Dru!”

“I shan’t abide such treatment! My dark prince is ravaged by the sunshine! I won’t ‘ave it!”

“It’s just fuckin’ elk blood – there’s nothing wrong with it!”

“There’s no life – it’s dead and foul, like beached whales and blank eyes.”

“Drusilla,” Spike growled. “It’s just for another couple o’ days!”

Another crash sounded against the wall. “OI! Stop that!”

“I’ll not stand for it!”

“You bloody well will!”

Another crash, this time louder.

Buffy jumped up and was outside banging at Spike’s door before she heard the next retort, the big dog growling and snarling at her side. “Spike! Are you alright? Let me in!”

She heard more sounds from inside, growls of anger and a howl of pain. “SPIKE!”

She had just drawn her bare foot back to kick the door down when it swung open. “WHAT!?” Spike demanded of her, his demon visage glaring at her through a sheet of blood.

“Spike? What the …? Are you alright? You’re bleeding!”

Spike whirled away from Buffy, shooting out a warning finger toward Dru. “Don’t you bloody dare!”

“I dare! The sunshine blazes, but the raven still dances in the dark!” Dru retorted, holding a lamp from the bedside table in her hand threateningly.

Spike pushed past Buffy into the approaching dusk, leaving a stain of blood in the shape of his hand on the shoulder of her Yummy Sushi pajamas. Just as he pulled the door closed something smashed against it, right where Spike’s head had been a moment before. The lamp, Buffy presumed.

“What’s going on?” Buffy asked, turning to look at the bloody vampire. “You’re bleeding.”

Spike rolled his eyes and wiped the blood off his face, his human features slipping back into place. “Not mine,” he explained, licking it off his fingers. “Elk.”

Buffy let out a relieved sigh even as her face screwed up in disgust watching him lick the sticky blood off his fingers.

“You were worried ‘bout me?” he asked, his blue eyes wide, glittering with mischief, a slow grin spreading across his blood-stained lips.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Buffy huffed. “I’m worried about all the damages that I’m gonna be paying for for the rest of my natural life and probably beyond! What the hell, Spike?”

Spike’s grin didn’t falter. “Admit it, you were worried about me.”

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded as something else crashed against the door, making the dog spin back toward it and resume his growl.

Spike shrugged, wiping more blood off his face with his finger and sucking it into his mouth. “She’s not fond ‘o the diet.”

“I thought you said you could control her,” Buffy reminded him, flinching as something else inside the room shattered.

“Just a little tantrum. Nothing t’ concern your pretty little head about,” he placated. “Be settled down in a bit, she will.”

“ _’In a bit’_?” Buffy repeated incredulously. “How about I speed that up with a stake to the heart?” she threatened, reaching for her stake only to remember that she was in her PJs and didn’t have it. It was tucked up in easy reach beneath her pillow.

Spike arched a brow at her. “Rule the first: never be without your weapon, Slayer. I always have mine,” he reminded her, as his face morphed back into the demon, fangs extending and sapphire eyes shifting to gold.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she growled, her empty hands balling into fists as she took a step back from him.

“Wouldn’t I?” he taunted, his fangs glinting in the street lights that had come on. He lunged for her, the deepest of his gashes protesting the sudden movement, but instead of attacking, he shoved her to the side just as Dru burst out of the door in a blind rage.

Spike-the-dog and Spike-the-vampire both went for the crazed vampiress, stopping her enflamed charge. They crashed together, all three tussling on the walkway and rolling into the parking lot. Growls and snarls and screeches came from the trio as Buffy regained her balance and spun around to see what was happening.

Everything began happening in rapid-fire instants with barely time to think or breathe between. 

Dru raked her nails down her childe’s face, making him curse and jerk back. The big dog surged in to fill the small opening that created, shoving the white rabbit away, onto his ass on the pavement. The Guardian of the Twilight clamped his jaws down over the bony rabbit’s throat and began to shake. _Crunchy rabbit._

Dru shrieked in fury and reached up to rip the dog’s flanks open with her dangerous claws.

“OI, Cujo! Had a deal!!” Spike snarled at the dog, trying to right himself, and come to his sire’s aid. Instead, he ended up gasping and falling back down, clutching one of the deep wounds on his stomach that had torn open again.

The Guardian faltered, his growl softening, unsure what to do. _Bony rabbit belongs to white rabbit?_

When the dark vampiress’ fingers sank into the thick, soft fur of the big dog, she suddenly stopped, as well.  “My lit’le gypsy tart has come ‘ome to mummy,” Dru breathed, raking her fingers lovingly through Spike’s thick fur. She began to hum gently as she ran her hands up and down his sides reverently.

As Dru began to stroke his sides and hum, the Guardian’s eyes flashed silver-blue and a surge of power radiated from him, sweeping over Dru like a wave of electricity.

Dru giggled, squirming giddily, as if being tickled all over. Spike-the-dog began to growl again, his fangs clamping down, breaking the delicate skin of her neck. _Bony rabbit belongs to stinky brown rabbit._

Dru barely seemed to notice as blood began to well around Spike’s fangs, still giggling merrily and running her hands through his long hair.

“OI!” the white rabbit demanded again, pushing himself through the pain as the smell of his sire’s blood hit him. “Let off!”

Buffy put an end to the turmoil, which had only lasted a handful of seconds. “Hold!” the Slayer commanded, coming up to where the big dog was standing over the downed vampire.

Spike was ready to throw himself at the big dog, to get him off his dark princess, when Buffy stepped in. He dropped down onto his ass on the pavement, one arm wrapped around his abdomen as he panted through the pain of the exertion. “Bloody hell, Dru. Ya dizzy bint! Gonna get the both of us dusted, you are!” he grumbled, his demon receding. “And you!” he glared at the dog. “Had a soddin’ deal, didn’t we!? Haven’t laid a hand on your girl, have I?”

The dog’s eyes shifted between the bony rabbit beneath him to the white rabbit beside him and back again, confused about why his rabbit fren was mad, all the while holding onto Dru’s neck, as his hooman had said.

“My lit’le lamb is all grown up,” Dru cooed, her demon fading. The dog still held her throat as she continued to run her hands up and down along his sides. “Shhhh,” she soothed. “Mummy’s here with raindrops and toadstools and pixies eating gooseberries in the hedgerow.”

“Release,” Buffy commanded the dog. Spike let go of Dru’s throat and backed off, still confused and watching the bony rabbit warily. Buffy’s hand closed around the vampiress’ throat, replacing the dog’s fangs, and lifted her up, slamming her back against the wall of the motel.

“MY. DOG,” Buffy snarled at her, shaking the vampire in a good imitation of said dog. “Not yours. _Mine_. You need to get that through your crazy-ass skull right now or you’ll be coming home in the ashtray!”

“Oi!” Spike objected again, finally pushing himself up to his feet, albeit gingerly. “Back off, Slayer.”

“Spike! Hold!” she commanded, waving her free hand at Dru’s childe. In the next moment the blond found himself flat on his face with the big dog standing over him, his teeth digging painfully into the back of the vampire’s neck but not quite breaking the skin.

“Bloody hell! Thought we had a soddin’ deal!” he complained again.

“Yeah, the deal is: Spike stays with me,” Buffy retorted, still looking at Dru. “Got it?”

“The sunshine takes my deadly, darling boys, one by one, it does. Like a lit’le golden goblin plucking daisies from the storm … snip, snip, snip,” Dru replied. “And all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, can’t bring them back to the raven again.”

“A simple ‘ _yes’_ is what I’m going for here,” Buffy informed her, shaking the dark vampire again. “The dog is mine.”

“You think you claim them, but they burn themselves to glimpse the light. Dragonflies to the flame, singeing their fairy wings as they flutter and whirl – captured like starshine in amber. All falling from cool darkness to embers and ash.”

Buffy huffed out an impatient sigh. “I swear to God…” she began angrily.

“She gets it, Slayer!” Spike contended from the ground. “Cujo’s yours. Let off!”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at the vampiress, who wasn’t fighting her. Honestly, Dru seemed to be looking right through her, as if Buffy wasn’t about to rip her head off her shoulders. “Don’t think I won’t dust you,” Buffy warned.

Dru smiled at her then, her wide, blue eyes focusing on Buffy. “Light is drawn to the darkness, as the dark yearns for light. Remember who found our deadly boy, who brought him to your side. There will always be part of me with him.”

“You might’ve stolen him, but Spike brought him to us, not you. And I got permission from Uriah to keep him with me. He’s not yours – he’s mine,” Buffy contended, releasing her hold on Dru’s throat with a final shove of the other woman against the wall.

Dru giggled, a lyrical sound, like a tinkling of bells. “You see the sun and never realize it is a star in the dark sky of other worlds.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, turning away from the dark vampire. “Release,” she commanded the dog, who immediately let go of the white rabbit.

“Bloody bitch,” Spike grumbled as he pushed himself up to his feet with a gasp and wince of pain.

“Don’t be a baby,” Buffy sighed, even as she took one of his arms to help him up. “You really are bleeding now,” she told him, wincing a bit at the deep cut running from the outside corner of his left eye down his cheek and ending at his chin.

“ _Ta ever so for keepin’ Dru from attackin’ me when my back was turned and I was unarmed_ ,” Spike mocked sarcastically, wiping his own blood off his face with his fingers and, as before, sucking it into his mouth.

“I shouldn’t have to thank you for that. You promised you could control her,” Buffy pointed out, wrinkling her nose up in disgust at him as he sucked the blood off his fingers.

“Yeah, well, a little appreciation now and again wouldn’t go amiss,” he contended, heading back toward Dru, who was still standing near the open door to their room, apparently conversing with the dog in low whispers.

“We still have the drive back to Sunnydale to live through, including one more day in a hotel,” Buffy pointed out, heading to her own room. “If we all make it through that, then I’ll consider it.”

“Anyone ever tell you what an ungrateful bitch you are?” Spike wondered as he took Dru’s arm and guided her gently back to the door of their room.

“Anyone ever tell you what a gigantic pain in the ass you are?” Buffy shot back, snapping her fingers to get the dog’s attention as she got to her door.

They both stopped just before entering their respective rooms and turned to look at each other. Spike smirked, and Buffy rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Leave in twenty?” he asked conversationally.

“Twenty,” she agreed just as casually before they both stepped inside their rooms with their roommates and closed the doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gypsy tart is a type of tart made with evaporated milk, muscovado sugar (dark brown sugar), and pastry. It originates from the County of Kent in England, and most specifically East Kent. The tart is extremely sweet and is, for many people, associated with school dinners.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holi117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holi117 for the two lovely banners!
> 
> More to come soon!


	13. Pit Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The travelers make an unplanned pit stop, much to Buffy’s dismay.

 

* * *

 

Buffy and Spike-the-dog were just returning from a quick walk in the empty lot behind the motel when Spike and Dru emerged from their room twenty minutes later. The Slayer watched as Spike guided his sire gently from the room to the car, his hand in the small of her back. He then opened the passenger door for her and took her hand reverently in his to help her in. He whispered something against the dark vampire’s ear and, whatever it was, made Dru smile.

Buffy rolled her eyes. _Dru’s a vampire! Pretty sure she doesn’t need help getting in a damn car._ Still, the whole scene made a little green demon twist a bit in the Slayer’s chest. She couldn’t remember Angel ever opening a door for her or pulling out a chair or even whispering against her ear, for that matter. Well, maybe he did the whisper-thing once when something was trying to kill them and he didn’t want to draw attention. Not quite the same.

Not that she couldn’t open her own doors, of course, but something about it just looked so sweet, like Dru truly was a princess in Spike’s eyes.

Buffy had dreamed of being a princess when she was little. The joke was on her, apparently. She got to be a Slayer, instead.

Spike looked up as he closed Dru’s door. “Ready, then?”

“Just let me grab my bag,” Buffy agreed, as she passed him. He’d cleaned up his face and changed his clothes. Had Dru finally helped him? Or was he feeling better after getting some blood? “You’ve got blood…” she pointed out, touching her own cheek to show him where that gouge from his beloved princess was still oozing a bit.

Spike touched it with a finger, finding the spot almost immediately, and dabbed it off his face, then licked it off his finger. Buffy rolled her eyes at him.

“What? Vampire. Surely, you’ve noticed, Slayer,” he defended, turning his cheek for her to inspect.

“Doesn’t mean it can’t wig me out to watch you drink your own blood,” she contended, nodding to indicate he’d gotten it.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never sucked a cut finger between those sweet lips and had a sip o’ Slayer blood,” he pointed out. “And you aren’t even a vampire.”

“That’s different,” she defended with a pout.

“How’s it different?” he wondered, arching a brow at her.

“It just is!” she huffed, turning and continuing on her way to the room to get her bag.

Spike looked down at the dog, digging in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. “Not any bloody different,” he told the dog, sniffing.

The dog sighed heavily, seeming to shrug his big shoulders.

“Couldn’t’ve said it better m’self,” Spike agreed as he lit a fag and took a long inhalation. He had a feeling he was gonna need all the nicotine he could get over the next few hours. Some bloody whiskey wouldn’t go amiss, either.

** X-X-X-X-X **

“Why are we stopping?” Buffy asked from the backseat as Spike pulled into the darkened parking lot of the ‘Midway Feed & Grain Company’.  She wrapped her hand around the stake that was in the seat between her and the dog, suddenly on alert. They’d only been driving about half an hour; it wasn’t time for a pit stop yet. The big dog sensed her apprehension and sat up, looking around curiously for the threat.

“Just need a quick stop for some … snacks,” Spike told her as Dru began bouncing in her seat, giggling like a kid at Christmas.

“Snacks? At a feed and grain warehouse?” Buffy questioned. “Like what? Corn? Wheat? Barley?”

“Don’t I bloody wish … some fermented barley would help the night along nicely,” Spike muttered.

“What?” Buffy asked, not understanding him.

“Won’t take but a mo’,” he said louder. “You’ll probably want t’ just wait here. Could use the mutt, though,” he continued, pulling around to the back of the building near a grimy window.

“Noooo … I don’t think so,” Buffy countered, still confused. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Just what I said! Gettin’ Dru some snacks,” Spike replied testily. “Not gonna run off with the soddin’ mutt on foot, are we?”

“Honestly, Spike, with Dru involved, I wouldn’t rule anything out,” Buffy retorted.

Spike huffed and rolled his eyes, getting out of the car. He opened the back door and the dog jumped out and began sniffing around happily and marking his territory.

“Hey! I just said ‘no’,” Buffy complained, sliding out behind the dog as Spike walked around to open Dru’s door.

“And he said ‘yes’,” Spike contended. “Reckon that shows you who’s really in charge here, doesn’t it?”

“He didn’t say anything! He’s a male! You open a door and he’s gonna jump out and pee on stuff!” Buffy argued.

Spike and Dru went over to the window of the warehouse and he used an elbow to bust out one of the panes of dirty, dust-covered glass.

“Damn it!” Buffy complained, looking around as if the police were lurking in the rural fields and forests surrounding the place. “This was not in the deal!”

“Wasn’t _not_ in the deal, either,” Spike pointed out as he reached in and unlatched the window. He pushed it up with a strain of protesting steel as it moved, possibly for the first time in twenty years.

Before Buffy could protest further, Spike had lifted Dru up and over into the warehouse with only a small grunt of effort and grimace of pain. With a sharp whistle and a tilt of his head, the dog followed her, sailing through the open window with easy grace and power.

“Goddamn it!” Buffy snarled as Spike also disappeared into the dark building. “I am so gonna stake you,” she threatened as she followed a moment later.

Inside the warehouse was dark. Like, cave dark. Like deep-space dark. There weren’t even any ‘Exit’ signs over the doors or electronic clocks or Scooby Doo nightlights. OSHA, or whoever controlled those things, apparently never made it out to Nowheresville, Wyoming. She could hear the others moving around, and caught a glimpse or two of platinum in the dark, but otherwise had no idea what was going on.

“What is going on?” she hissed in a whisper, still gripping her stake in her hand, but what she really needed was a flashlight. She wondered why the stupid Council hadn’t created a stake/flashlight combination weapon. Or a stake with a night vision scope on it. Or _something_ that would actually be helpful!

“Don’t move,” Spike advised from somewhere behind her.

Of course, Buffy moved. That stupid vampire wasn’t gonna tell her what to do! She ran into what felt like a stack of some type of feed in burlap bags and she crept around them, moving further into the center of the warehouse.

“Slaayeer,” Spike warned in a sing-song voice. “Go back.”

“You aren’t the boss of me,” she contended, moving around more stacks of feedbags, feeling along with her hands until she got to an open area which she assumed must be the main aisle.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Spike jeered just as the dog let out a series of ear-splitting barks from the opposite direction.

“Run and catch, run and catch, the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch,” Drusilla sing-songed and began to titter with giddy excitement.

“Wha—” Buffy began to ask, but was stopped when what felt like hundreds or thousands or gazillions of rats began scurrying past her, their clawed feet, hot, bare tails, and furry, fat bodies raking over the top of her feet as they all squeaked in panic and horror. Buffy screamed bloody murder and began to stomp and swat at her legs and torso, and even her head, as they climbed all the way up her body in blind terror, trying to get away from the huge dog that was chasing them.

She whirled and shrieked, her stake clattering to the floor as she beat at herself and them, trying to get them off. One tangled in her hair and her shrieks of horror redoubled as she clawed at it, trying to get it off her, out of her hair, out of her life, out of this fucking universe! It finally came free, but there were more, seemingly everywhere – crawling all over her! In the dark she crashed blindly into a pallet stacked with feedbags, perhaps five feet tall, and scrambled up atop it. She continued to scream and curse and shriek and smack at anything that felt remotely like it was alive, which, honestly, everything felt that way now. She stood up on the bags of feed and stomped and kicked and screamed until her throat was raw, and then she screamed some more.

“Slayer,” Spike said in a calm voice from just below her.

She continued to shriek and turn wildly, swatting and stomping and kicking at everything and nothing.

“Slayer. Oi! Slayer!” Nothing changed; she kept screaming and turning in ever-faster circles, slapping at her body. “Buffy!” he tried.

“Get them off me!” she wailed, never stopping her panicked movements.

“There aren’t any on ya, for fuck’s sake! Calm down,” he advised, still standing below her not-so-safe haven.

“There are!” she protested with wild slaps to her shoulders, which turned out to be her own hair sweeping across them.

“There bloody well aren’t! If you’d stop dancing about like a whirling dervish a soddin’ minute, you’d see!” he pointed out.

Buffy stopped spinning, panting with panic and exertion, her skin flushed, her heart about to beat right out of her chest. It still felt like things were on her and she kept slapping and swatting at ghosts.

“There’s nothing there,” Spike assured her. “You can come down now.”

“You’re lying! They’re everywhere!” she shot back, wishing desperately for a light.

Spike must’ve read her mind because his Zippo clicked to life a moment later, illuminating the floor around him. He looked up at her with a ‘ _See! I told you so_ ,’ expression on his face.

“You enormous ass!” Buffy snarled, jumping down off her perch. “You did that on purpose!”

Spike barked out a laugh. “I told ya to wait in the soddin’ car! I told you not to move from over by the window. I bloody warned you!”

Buffy took a wild swing at his nose, which Spike ducked easily. “I hate you! What the fuck, Spike!?”

Spike took a step back, out of range of her fists, a rolling laugh burbling up from his belly. “And you call me a big, stubborn baby. Didn’t know Slayers were so squeamish! And where did ya learn those words, pet? Reckon you could give sailors a run for their money.”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “Where’s my stake?” she asked, trying to see in the small circle of light from the flame.

Spike snorted. “Ya think I’m gonna give you a stake after that? My plans may not always work out, but I’m not a bloody idiot.”

“I hate you,” she sulked, stepping forward and shoving him on the shoulder, but with no real fire.

“I hate you too, Slayer,” he replied, smirking. “Does that mean we’re BFFs now instead ‘a just friends?”

“Ass,” Buffy groused as she turned and started making her way back to the open window.

“Bitch,” Spike retorted, following her, holding the lighter up over his head so she could see.

“Jerk,” she continued.

“Whiner,” he countered.

“Where’s Spike?” she asked next, suddenly remembering he’d been in that melee too.

“Gone out already with Dru,” Spike told her as she reached the window and vaulted through with one hand on the sill.

Buffy’s panic nearly made a return engagement as visions of Dru doing something horrible to Spike flashed in her mind. Neither of them were in sight near the car and her fear mounted. “Where are they?” she demanded as Spike’s feet touched down on the gravel parking lot behind her.

He looked around, tilting his head at the car. “Backseat.”

Buffy raced to the car and pulled open the back door, ready to defend her baby from the vampire. What she saw, however, stopped her short. Dru was brushing her fingers through the dog’s soft fur, all down his back, and cooing to him softly. For his part, Spike was sitting pretty, his brown eyes alert, but his mouth was hanging open in a satisfied grin, still panting lightly from the rat roundup.

“You’re ruining my damn dog,” Buffy complained, looking back at Spike. “First you, now Dru! Pretty soon he’ll be friends with Angel and be completely useless!”

The dog growled, a low rumbling vibration in his chest at the mention of Dru’s sire, which made Spike laugh. “Just knows proper, upstanding vampires when he meets them, I reckon,” Spike sniffed.

“Right,” Buffy agreed sarcastically, still twitching with phantom rats crawling over her skin. “Would you mind telling me just what the hell that was about?” she asked, waving a hand toward the warehouse. “And where my stake is?”

Spike shrugged, climbing into the driver’s seat. He pulled the stake out of his duster pocket and set it on the seat next to him. Buffy walked around the car and got in the front passenger’s seat, since it appeared Dru had taken her seat in the back. Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about having the vampiress behind her in the car with her dog. She trusted her dog to have her back, even if he was playing nice with the crazy vampire at the moment. And, so far, Dru hadn’t hurt Spike, despite at least one easy opportunity.

Buffy scowled a silent warning at Dru, who seemed to be unaware of her even being there, so lost was she combing her fingers through the dog’s thick mane. The Slayer sighed in exasperation and picked up the stake, tucking it away as Spike started the car. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Told ya before we went in – getting snacks for Dru,” he replied, as he headed out of the parking lot and back to the main road.

“Snacks … you mean … _rats_?” Buffy stuttered out, a chill of disgust running down her spine like ice water.

“One o’ her favorites,” Spike agreed. “Usually bring ‘er one every mornin’ with her paper.”

Buffy’s mouth seemed to have stopped working, her jaw hanging open in horrified comprehension. “You … have … rats … in the car? Live … rats?”

Spike smirked at her. “Under yer seat.”

“GAH!!” Buffy squealed, jerking her feet up and trying her best to stand up on the seat, her head hitting the roof, her eyes darting around in the floorboard. “Get them out!”

Spike laughed. The dog looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Dru started singing, “Hark, hark, the dogs do bark. The beggars are comin’ to town. Some in rags, some in tags, some in velvet gowns.”

“Did you hear me?! Get. Them. Out!” Buffy demanded, squatting on her heels on the seat, her eyes scanning the interior for rats, her skin twitching from ghost rats that she could still feel.

“No,” Spike replied simply. “Quit bein’ a big baby,” he advised with a smirk.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” she shrieked.

“Reckon I know how I’ll kill my third Slayer now,” Spike continued, as he turned onto the freeway and began picking up speed. “Dump a sack o’ rats on ‘er. She’ll spontaneously combust!”

“Sppiike,” Buffy ground out. “I am so not kidding.”

“Relax, Slayer. Got a cage under there for ‘em. Not gonna get out. Yer perfectly safe,” he assured her.

Buffy kept looking around, swearing she saw movement, but then there would be nothing there. “Are you sure?”

“Course,” Spike shrugged.

Buffy began to slowly sit back down, though she kept her feet up off the floor. “Really, really sure?”

“I’m tellin’ ya. There’s nothin’ to worry about,” Spike assured her confidently. “Unless the latch breaks … again.”

“WHAT!?” Buffy shrieked, jumping back up to her previous position, as far away from the floor as she could get.

Spike began to laugh, a rolling, infectious laugh that seemed to flow like warm honey from his throat.

“Has anyone ever told you what a royal pain in the ass you are?” Buffy demanded, apparently inoculated against the infectiousness of his laugh by the prospect of rats using her as a jungle gym.

“And lived?” Spike chortled. “Only you, pet. Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holi117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holi117 for the two lovely banners!
> 
> More to come soon!


	14. Decoder Ring?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road again...

* * *

 

“The stars whisper, psssp, psssp, psssp,” Dru breathed next to the big dog’s ear in the backseat of the DeSoto. “You hear them, lit’le gypsy? They cry and sing and blend night into day, dark into light.  The dusk and dawn mingle and gild the world with sparkles.”

The dog whined softly, looking between the driver of the car and the front seat passenger.

“Stop trying to infect my Spike with your crazy – save it for your own,” Buffy complained from the front. She sat sideways so she could watch both Spike and Dru, her back against the door and her feet drawn up on the seat, as far away from the caged rats as she could get them. She could hear them squeaking and making other creepy rat noises down there. It was so bad even _she_ turned up the music a time or two, trying to drown them out.

“The golden goblin cannot hear them; doesn’t know the stars are fallin’ from the night sky,” Drusilla continued, speaking softly to the dog. “Raindrops into rainbows, but the darkness calls. Like bees to jasmine, the fluttering wings hum just near enough to inhale the sable sachet of the shadows.”

“Do you come with a decoder ring or something?” Buffy asked the dark vampire. “If so, we need to stop so I can get a box of Cracker Jacks … or does it come in cereal boxes?”

“You hear the spark but are blind to the riddle, though twinkling stars whisper in screams of glimmering splendor.”

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes, looking over at the blond vampire. “How have you put up with this for a hundred and fifty years?”

Spike shrugged. “Just let it flow over ya. Lyrical, all poetic-like, innit?”

“In a ‘Mad Hatter and March Hare’ sort of way,” Buffy agreed sarcastically.

Spike smirked. “She’s rarely wrong, though … if you can sort it out … and sort out what’s drivel and what’s a vision.”

“Which you can?” Buffy wondered.

“At times.”

“So, what’s she talking about now? Goblins and rainbows and jasmine and stars?”

“Best I can figure, you’re the golden goblin,” he explained.

“What?! I’m not a goblin! Goblins are … short and ugly, with giant ears and green skin and big mouths and bad teeth,” she protested.

Spike gave her a slow, assessing look, his eyes traveling deliberately up and down her body, and shrugged as he looked back at the road. “Apart from the green skin, fits, dunnit? And she did say ‘golden’, so…”

Buffy kicked one foot out and jabbed her heel against his hip, shoving him against the other door. “Jerk.”

Spike laughed, shifting back into the center of his seat as she withdrew her foot. “Well, you asked,” he pointed out.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “What about the rest of it?”

“No bloody idea,” Spike admitted, still smiling at the dig he’d gotten in. “Sometimes ya only realize what she meant in hindsight.”

“Helpful,” Buffy droned, rolling her eyes. She tried to remember what else Dru had said about the ‘goblin’, but it had made no sense and had gone in one ear and out the other. Buffy resettled herself against the door, refolding her legs, and asked, “Why do you love her so much?”

Spike arched a brow at Buffy before looking back at the road. “Why do you love Angel?”

“I don’t … I mean, I did but, well, I guess I do, but … not in the ‘I love you’ sort of way, just in the friends way. But not in the way _we’re_ friends,” she hastened to add. “Like, actual friends, thus love of the friendly variety.”

Spike barked out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, p-lease! You’ve never been friends, and never will be!”

“Yes, we are!” Buffy countered, her ire raising. “What do you know, anyway?”

“What’s his name?” he challenged.

“What do you mean? … Angel …”

“No, his real name, not the one Darla gave ‘im,” Spike explained.

“Liam,” Buffy answered haughtily.

“And what did our dear Liam do ‘fore he was turned into the always-charming Angelus?” Spike continued.

Buffy frowned, her brows drawing together. “I … I’m not sure. He doesn’t like talking about the past.”

Spike smirked. “Right, then, what was the last movie ya went to with him?”

“I … we … aren’t that sort of friends.”

“Dontcha go to the movies with your other mates?” Spike challenged.

“Well, yeah, but …”

“Right,” he interrupted. “What’s his … favorite color? Favorite food? Favorite book? Favorite decade? Dance? Type of music? Favorite Beatle? Favorite blood type?”

“AB Positive,” Buffy answered quickly before he could go on.

“AB Positive from nuns, t’ be exact. Dru was AB Positive,” Spike clarified. “And the rest?”

Her face contorted in thought. “He doesn’t … talk about stuff like that.”

“Face it, Slayer, you aren’t friends. The only thing you two have in common is he’s a vampire and you’re a Slayer. I reckon you know more about _me_ than you know about him by now,” Spike posited. “Bet ya don’t even know what kinda poncy hair gel he uses.”

Buffy’s frown deepened. That actually was true. She’d seen Spike’s ‘Lock-and-Hold Curl-Kicker Complete’ pomade in the bathroom that first night they shared a room. She’d never seen what Angel used.  

“He took me ice skating once…” she offered, somewhat lamely.

Spike huffed out a laugh. “Would’a paid real money to see Angelus on ice,” he laughed. “Did he wear a tutu? Tell me he fell on his arse.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Actually, your goons – one of the Taraka jerks – interrupted the date, so I didn’t actually get to find out if he could skate.”

“Shame that,” Spike admitted. “So, one to ten, ice skating with Angel or road trip with Spike … which was more fun?”

“Not sure I would call any of this fun,” she groused, looking back at Dru, who was still whispering sweet nothings to the dog.

“Oh, bollocks!” Spike disagreed. “Fists an’ fangs, bears and rats, Burger King and buffalo blood, and the ‘hot ass’ hotel. Bloody brilliant!”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but a small smile quirked her lips. “You’re a total sicko,” she contended, but her tone was teasing.

“Better that than a stick-in-the-soddin’-mud like Peaches,” Spike pointed out. “Curse or not, he wouldn’t know fun if it came up and bit him in the arse.”

“Why do you do that?” Buffy wondered.

“What?” he asked, glancing over at her.

“You never say ‘soul’, you always say ‘curse’ when you’re talking about Angel,” she clarified.

Spike shrugged, looking back at the road. “More goin’ on there than some spell shovin’ Liam’s soul back in.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what I hear, our Liam wasn’t what you’d call the most upstanding of citizens,” Spike revealed. “What do you think drew Darla to him in the first place? Watched him fight and drink and carouse, she did. Watched him fu… errr …” He cleared his throat, casting a sidelong glance at his companion. “ _Use_ the girls – whores and virgins alike – and toss ‘em away like ragdolls, leaving ‘em preggers or worse. Never gave ‘em a second thought, never looked back. Though, I do reckon Angelus made good in the end, killin’ them all, putting them outta their misery.

“Take a bloke who did half o’ what he and Darla said he did before he was turned, and I don’t reckon that soul would brood over-much ‘bout the bodies in his wake,” Spike sniffed. “Killed his entire village when he was turned, includin’ his whole family. That kinda rage … it don’t come from the demon, that comes from the bloody man.”

“What do you know about it?” Buffy challenged angrily, her heart and stomach churning with images she didn’t want of Angel and girls and death. “You weren’t even there. I suppose you didn’t kill your family! Dru didn’t kill hers!?”

Spike stiffened slightly, but latched onto the second question. “No, Dru didn’t kill ‘ers, bloody Angelus and Darla beat her to it, didn’t they? Made her watch, drove her stark, ravin’ mad, didn’t he? _Then_ he turned her. Always a seer, she was, but not like this.” He waved a hand back toward the giggling woman who continued petting and conversing with the dog. “That’s his work. Your beloved’s masterpiece.”

Buffy looked down at her hands, wringing them in her lap. “I know,” she admitted. “He was gonna make me his next.”

Spike shrugged. “Seemed like,” he agreed, hating the thought of it. He hadn’t known Dru before, but Darla told him she’d not been mad – young, confused, afraid of her visions, a devout Catholic, frightened that she may be cursed by the devil, but not mad. Spike knew the Slayer, had seen her wiles and her bravery. The girl had stones, had heart, was resourceful and powerful with a keen instinct, and she was no dummy, despite not knowing what a dirigible was. He would’ve hated to have seen such a masterpiece of grace and power and death be defiled and degraded by the enormous git.

That wasn’t how you defeated Slayers. Fists and fangs and slivers of wood. That was the dance. Life and death with honor, not mind-games and manipulation. Yes, he’d cheated a bit hiring the Order of Taraka, but she’d just made him so bloody angry. She had a penchant for that, it seemed – getting under his skin. Still, he’d never used the tactics Angelus had on anyone, not Slayers or humans. As strange as it was for a vampire to say, it just felt too underhanded to Spike.

Buffy sighed. “You think the curse made him feel more guilt than just his soul would’ve?”

“Was kinda the point of it, yeah?” he reasoned.

Buffy lifted her brows with a little tilt of her head and shrug of one shoulder in agreement.

“Do you think the curse made him … worse? I mean, when it broke? Did it make Angelus worse?”

Spike pursed his lips. For once he stopped to think before answering. He knew what she wanted to hear, and he knew it wasn’t the truth. What should he tell her – the truth or the lie?

“Are you thinking about lying to me?” Buffy wondered.

Spike glanced at her and back to the road, giving her a shrug.

“As a personal favor to me, I’d rather you not. I already have one vampire here that I need a decoder ring to figure out, I don’t need another one.”

Spike sighed. “Angelus was always a manky bugger. Not sayin’ that being caged that long might not’ve made his demon a bit more bloodthirsty, but …”

“But he’s always been bad,” Buffy filled in. “Like you.”

Spike smirked. “Different kinda bad, aren’t I? The best kinda bad. The kinda bad you wanna roll around in naked,” he taunted, running his tongue across his lips and giving her a leer that tingled her skin like a physical caress. He kept his eyes on her long enough to make Buffy squirm uncomfortably and worry that he’d crash the car.

She coughed, trying to cover her physical reaction to those piercing eyes, but couldn’t pull her gaze from his face, those lips, those eyes, those cheekbones, even that scar. Shit! Her mom was right. That scar is fucking sexy.

_Bad Buffy!_

“Pig,” she rasped out finally, her mouth dry and throat tight. She cleared her throat and broke the spell as she turned to look back at Dru, forcing herself to breathe normally. “Why do you put up with him doing that?”

Dru looked up and met the Slayer’s eyes, her head tilting curiously. “My dark prince has only eyes for his princess, dearie. The sunshine shan’t scorch the moon unless the raven blackens his heart.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Why do I even bother?” she muttered with a sigh.

She looked back over at the saner of the two vampires. “So, what is it with you and Dru? Is it a sire thing? Is that why you stay with her?”

Spike arched a brow at her, then looked back at the road. “Told ya before, Slayer. Stay with ‘er cos I love her, don’t I? She’s my black goddess … my destiny.”

Buffy’s brows drew together, glancing back at Dru who seemed to not be paying any attention to them at all. “And you’re her dark prince – I figured that much out – but …” Buffy shook her head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Spike asked, shooting her a curious look. “Wanna know if I know her favorite color? Favorite music? Favorite meal? Cos, yeah, I do.”

“No, it’s just … why didn’t she help you get your clothes changed and those gouges cleaned up after she woke up today?” Buffy wondered. “You said she’s a seer. Couldn’t she _see_ that you needed some help? That you were in pain?”

“Was still recoverin’ from the drugs, she was,” Spike excused with a shrug. “And they hadn’t fed her properly.”

Buffy’s brows wrinkled further. Dru hadn’t looked woozy or weak to her. “Do you ever get tired of being the one who does all the giving, Spike?”

Spike shot her an angry glare. “You ever get tired o’ butting into things that you don’t bloody understand with that big goblin mouth?”

Buffy nodded to herself.  Nail. Head. Well, maybe he wasn’t the only one who could reach in and touch those tender spots, find the button beneath all the others that went straight for the pain. She looked out the windshield at the dark forest passing by. “Sorry. None of my business, you’re right.”

Spike’s mouth drew into a hard line as he stared out at the highway ahead, his hands wrapped around the wheel in a death grip. The two blondes sat in silence for a long time as the miles passed by, the sound of the music playing, the engine’s rumble, the tires on the asphalt, and Dru’s soft singing and cooing filling the thick air between them.

“Sometimes,” he whispered after a relative eternity.

Buffy looked at him just as he turned toward her, and their eyes met. She nodded and gave him a sad smile. “As a wise man once said: love stinks,” she asserted.

Spike snorted and looked back at the road. “Shakespeare?” he teased even as the J. Geils Band rang in his ears, ‘ _Love stinks, yeah, yeah!_ _Love stinks_!’

“Pepe Le Pew,” Buffy she replied with a straight face.

Spike barked out a laugh. “Well, he would know.”

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

 

**[ Song: ‘Radar Love’ by Golden Earring:<https://youtu.be/Zf53Pg2AkdY> ]**

Growing tired of Buffy’s long-suffering sighs, and other, louder complaints about his music, Spike allowed her to search through the radio stations to find something that she could live with. The only caveat being it had to be something that didn’t make his ears bleed or his eyes roll out of their sockets.

She spun the dial through static and talk, checking both the AM and FM stations. Almost ready to give up, she hit on something that sounded familiar, though faint. She fiddled with the dial, trying to pick it up, and, as the car crested a mountain, the music blared out of the speakers, making all the occupants wince.

 

_I've been drivin' all night, my hands wet on the wheel_  
There's a voice in my head that drives my heel  
It's my baby callin', says I need you here

 

Buffy quickly turned it down, grinning, as she started dancing in her seat, snapping her fingers to the rockin’ beat.

“I love this song! Mom and Dad used to play it on road trips when I was a kid,” she shared. “Like … over and over all the way to Illinois!”

When the chorus started, both she and Spike sang,

“ _We've got a thing that's called radar love.  
We've got a wave in the air … … radar love_.”

 

They both laughed, Spike tapping out the rhythm on the steering wheel as Buffy snapped her fingers and danced in her seat.

As the car began back down the other side of the mountain, the signal began to cut in and out. “No! No, no, no! Go back!” Buffy begged, her body stilling in the seat as she stared at the radio, willing it to come back on.

Spike slammed on the brakes and shifted the car into reverse on the dark, deserted highway. Buffy had to catch herself on the dash to keep from being thrown from the seat onto the floor as the car lurched backwards, speeding back toward the top of the mountain. The two occupants in the back were also caught off-guard and were tossed about a bit, with Drusilla muttering something about ‘willing slave to the golden goblin’, but Buffy was too focused on the soft glow of the radio to notice, eager for the song’s return.

When the song returned, loud and strong, Spike swerved off onto the shoulder and stopped. They both picked up singing the next verse,

 

“ _We've got a thing that's called radar love._

_We've got a light in the skyyy … … radar love.”_

 

They were both grinning, Spike now tapping out the beat with both hands on the dash as Buffy continued snapping her fingers and grooving in her seat. She danced with her upper-body, her moving shoulders and bobbing her head along to the drums and bass, her hair bouncing in waves around her face and shoulders.

As the next stanza began, she held up her fist to her mouth like a microphone to sing, _“Gotta keep cool now, gotta take care.”_

She reached her fist over to Spike for the next line, and he sang into it,

_“Last car to pass, here I go. And the line of cars drove down real slow.”_

They alternated the next lines, Buffy shifting the ‘mic’ back and forth between them.  

“ _And the radio played that forgotten song_ ,” she crooned.

_“Brenda Lee’s comin’ on strong.”_

_“And the newsman sang his same song.”_

_“Oh, one more radar lover gone,_ ” Spike finished.

Buffy held her fist between them and they both leaned into sing,

_When I get lonely and I’m sure I’ve had enough._  
She sends her comfort comin’ in from above.  
We don’t need no letter at all.

_We’ve got a thing that’s called radar love.  
We’ve got a light in the sky-yyy._

_We’ve got a thing that’s called radar love.  
We’ve got a thing that’s caaalled … … radar love._

 

They both laughed as the song ended and the DJ started talking about the annual rodeo and pickle festival in a nearby town. Spike put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road, heading down the mountain again, the DJ’s voice fading. Buffy mused that it was so weird that she could remember the words to that song from those childhood trips, but couldn’t remember the difference between an analogy, a simile and a metaphor, which would’ve been handy on the SATs she just took. ‘Radar Love’ wasn’t on the test … like, at all. 

“Careful, Slayer, you might actually start havin’ fun,” Spike warned, smirking as Buffy continued singing the song under her breath.

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “Almost as fun as imagining Angelus on ice in a tutu.”

Spike barked out a laugh. “Hard t’ beat that,” he agreed.

The big dog leaned up over the seat and nuzzled Spike’s neck with his cold nose.

“Oi!” the vampire complained, lifting his shoulder to deflect the cold wetness, but he was still smiling.

Undeterred, the Guardian shifted over to give his smiling master the same treatment. She didn’t complain, but wrapped her arms around his thick neck and leaned her head against his. She began chuckling again as the image of Angel on skates, in tights and a tutu, appeared in her mind. The tutu was pink. He tried a spin with his hands raised over his head like a goofy, really big-boned ballerina. Angel fell on his ass. The ice cracked. Buffy’s chuckle turned into a throaty laugh, which made the vampire laugh again.

The dog’s eyes shifted over to look at the driver approvingly, his tongue lolling out happily as Buffy hugged him, laughing. The vampire returned the honor with a small nod of approval directed at his namesake. He was still grinning as he looked back at the dark highway. Angelus on ice would be bloody priceless.

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s YOUR go-to road trip song?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holi117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holi117 for the two lovely banners!
> 
> More to come soon!


	15. Morning Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another morning, another motel...

The small town Spike stopped in a bit before dawn had exactly one hotel: the Morning Wood. One restaurant: a bright yellow, if slightly worse-for-the-wear, Waffle House. One little store that claimed to sell cigarettes and beer for the ‘lowest prices in Elko County’, and one gas station, who made no claims about their gas being cheaper than anyone on God’s green Earth, since it clearly wasn’t.

“Are you even serious right now?” Buffy asked, looking at the name of the hotel on the hand-painted sign by the office door. The ‘M’ in ‘morning’ was created with the twin peaks of snow-capped mountains standing side-by-side. The ‘H’ in ‘hotel’ was formed out of two tall cypress trees with branches for the cross between them. The ‘W’ in ‘wood’, however, clearly had nothing to do with forests, trees, or timberlands. It was formed from the viewpoint of looking up from the foot of a bed where a male was sleeping on their back, presumably in the morning. The bottom of their feet formed the outside uprights of the ‘W’ and a … errr … tented sheet in the middle made the upside-down ‘V’ – morning wood.

 

 

Spike arched a brow at her. “My morning wood is no joke, Slayer,” he deadpanned as he parked in front of the office. “But I reckon you know that already, eh?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Pig,” she groaned, getting out of the car to go in and get the rooms, though her face flushed with warmth recalling the impressive tent in the sheets covering Spike after that first day at the ‘hot ass’ hotel. Although, technically, his wood wasn’t morning, but evening. Still…

Once again getting adjoining rooms, Buffy and Spike each unloaded and carried the bags into their respective accommodations, while Dru simply waited. Buffy rolled her eyes in scorn, watching Spike do all the work, despite him being injured and still in some amount of pain. _Must be nice to live in la-la land and be waited on hand and foot._ Buffy took mercy on him and carried the cooler into their room, letting Spike-the-dog out of the back at the same time.

“The bunnies run and hop and crunch so nicely,” Dru said as the dog jumped down from the backseat to join Buffy. “Our Spike can smell them sizzlin’ and poppin’. They’d taste perfectly scrummy; he’s ever so peckish.”

“Can you just say something normal one time?” Buffy wondered, leaning down to look at the dark vampire in the backseat.

Dru considered her, tilting her head to the side. “Our boy’s tummy is empty, dearie,” Dru clarified, tilting her head across the street toward the Waffle House. “Can smell the scrummy rabbits.”

Buffy furrowed her brow and looked in the direction Dru had indicated, then looked down at the dog. Spike was sitting next to her, looking up hopefully, his long tail sweeping across the parking lot excitedly. “You’re gonna get fat eating all this fried food,” she informed him.

“Whoof!!” Spike disagreed, shaking his head vigorously and rattling his tags. He stood up and leaned against her heavily as if to show he’d not gained an ounce thus far.

“Also, I don’t think they serve rabbit,” Buffy added with a sigh as Spike-the-vampire returned to the car and opened the other door to help Dru out. “I guess I’ll go over and get some breakfast,” Buffy said to him as he gallantly offered Dru his hand and she slid from the car with elegant grace fit for a princess. “Do you want anything?”

Spike looked up at her, then over at the Waffle House, and back again. “Wouldn’t mind an order o’ hash browns smothered in chili,” he accepted. “And a root beer.”

Buffy scrunched her face up at the order, shaking her head. “Okay, anything else? Dru?”

Spike shook his head. “She’s got ‘er rats,” he reminded Buffy, making a cold shiver run down the Slayer’s spine.

“How could I forget?” she droned, rolling her eyes.  Buffy took the dog and put him in her room before turning and heading toward the restaurant.

“Oi! Bring a few packets o’ hot sauce, too,” Spike called after her.

Buffy waved her hand in acknowledgement as she hurried across the two-lane road. She steeled herself to brave the crowd of early-morning truckers, farmers, ranchers, and rednecks which she assumed were inside just based on the jacked-up, muddy four-by-four pickups and big sixteen-wheelers in the parking lot.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Spike opened the door when Buffy knocked a bit later, her arms laden down with Styrofoam takeout boxes and drinks. “Top,” she said curtly, sounding annoyed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking the top box off the stack.

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing a long, hot shower and a gallon of bleach won’t cure,” she grumbled with a shudder, holding up the drink carrier for him to take the root beer from it.

Spike furrowed his brows, studying her a moment, then looked past her, across the street at the restaurant. “What happened?” he rasped, a soft growl forming in his throat as he took the drink.

“Nothing, just, you know, good-ol’-boy shenanigans,” Buffy dismissed, turning to go to her room.

“They touched you?” he questioned, taking a step out onto the covered walkway, scanning her for injuries, still holding his food. He could feel her agitation and, now that he’d taken time to notice, there were at least three different scents on her. “I’ll rip their bloody heads off,” he snarled, taking another step toward the edge of the canopy and the sun that shone beyond it.

“I handled it,” she assured him, juggling the two remaining boxes of food and the drink carrier to dig her key out of her pocket. “Plus, in case you’ve forgotten, you’re allergic to that big shiny thing in the sky. You’d dust before you got to the road. I’m no damsel, if you haven’t noticed. Anyway, I think you forgot your white horse and shiny armor, Sir Lancelot.”

Spike turned back to face her, a scowl planted firmly on his face, and followed her into her room. “Bloody wankers,” he complained as Buffy clicked on the TV then set her and the dog’s food down on the small writing/dining table in the room.

Buffy snorted, opening the boxes. “So, only you can act piggy around me, is that it?”

“Haven’t ever touched ya, have I?” he pointed out, setting his own food and drink down with hers.

Spike-the-dog was at Buffy’s side in an instant, his nose lifted, sniffing the air eagerly, tail wagging fast enough to send dust bunnies scurrying out from beneath the bed.

“You mean apart from all the times you’ve tried to kill me?” she wondered, tearing off a piece of grilled chicken breast and giving it to the dog, who was pawing at her leg impatiently.

Spike straightened, squaring his shoulders. “Yeah, apart from that,” he sniffed as his namesake snapped up the juicy morsel.

“Well, you did leave a huge, bloody handprint on my favorite PJs yesterday morning,” she reminded him.

Spike’s gaze narrowed in impatience. “Never touched ya with disrespect,” he clarified.

“Yeah, I felt very respected when you were ramming my head against that wall at the school,” Buffy snorted, sitting down at the table.

“You know what I bloody mean,” Spike insisted, as he pulled the other chair out and sat down across from her.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. Crazily, she did know what he meant. “I’m fine. I won’t let anyone but you kill me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“’Preciate that, Slayer,” he replied, stabbing a straw into his root beer. “Rather ya not be smelling o’ Aqua Velva, fried fish, and cow manure when I take ya out, though.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose, looking down at herself. “Cow manure? Really?” she moaned, sniffing at her shoulder and then the collar of her shirt.

Spike gave her an almost apologetic shrug, as if he’d been the one to put it on her. “Bit lower, pet,” he told her, leaning to the side to see around the table and letting his gaze slide down to the seat of her chair.

Buffy rolled her eyes and nodded. “’Baldy’. I’m pretty sure I broke all four fingers on that one.”

Spike snorted, opening his own box of food and getting the plastic fork and knife out of the package.

“So, what scent do you prefer? Are you an ‘Opium’ or ‘Obsession’ man?” she wondered, tossing the dog another bite as she began sorting out her own food, napkins, straw, and plastic utensils.

“Eau de Slayer’ll do me,” he countered. “Au naturel.”

“And what does that smell like?” she wondered, drizzling her waffles with maple syrup, before tossing the big dog another piece of chicken, which he caught with a wet snap of jaws, practically swallowing it whole.

Spike’s blue eyes glittered as he looked across the table at her, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading over his face. “Bloody heaven,” he purred.

“I thought it was the road to _hell_ that was paved with Slayers,” she reminded him, picking up a sausage link with her fingers, dipping it in the maple syrup and taking a bite.

“Yeah, but ya drown in heaven the whole way there,” he assured her as he opened a couple of packs of hot sauce and smothered the chili-topped hash browns with it.

“But you said you’d make me a happy ghost … don’t forget that part,” she reminded him as ‘The Price is Right’ came on the TV.

Spike bit his lower lip, pinning her with that intense blue gaze of his. “Promise not t’ forget that part, luv.”

“Oh! And no rats!” she insisted, her eyes suddenly wide.

“No rats,” he agreed. “Fists and fangs, heavenly blood and happy ghosts.”

Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. “You forgot stakes and dust,” she pointed out, taking a bite of her eggs. “Or did you think I’d just ‘go gentle into that good night’?”

Spike arched a brow at her.

“What? Only you can know things? I know things,” she insisted with a pout. “ _’Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light_.’ Dylan Thomas.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Slayer,” Spike agreed. “It’ll be a brilliant dance, you and me, raging against the dying of the light.”

“As long as it’s not to the Sex Pistols, cos, honestly?  I don’t think I can dance to that,” Buffy countered, tossing the dog a French fry before taking a bite of her waffles.

“Were dancing pretty nicely t’ ‘Radar Love’,” he suggested, giving her an appreciative leer, his eyes raking over her admiringly.

Buffy shook her head, but a slight flush rose to her cheeks just from the way he was looking at her. “That’s a ‘mom song,’” she deflected. “Need something with less … history.”

Spike snorted, looking away from her and digging into his own food. “Well, it bloody well won’t be to any soddin’ boy bands!”

“ _Hmph_. Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until we find some other music that we can both stand, otherwise it’ll just be pathetic,” she asserted.

Spike shrugged. “Fair enough,” he agreed, taking a bite of his food.

Buffy looked at the TV a moment before announcing, “$2,350.”

Spike looked to see what she was looking at. The contestants on the show were trying to guess the price of a little ‘Day Sailor’ sailboat. He scowled. “Too high,” he asserted. “I’d reckon a grand.”

“You are so gonna lose this. You may win Trivial Pursuit, but I will beat you at shopping. Every. Single. Time,” she gloated.

“Not bloody likely,” he disagreed as they waited for the actual price to come up.

“And, the actual retail price is….” Bob Barker announced dramatically. “$2,395!!”

Buffy lifted her arms in victory, bouncing in her chair and sticking her tongue out at Spike.

“Just lucky,” Spike insisted, taking a drink of his root beer as they waited for the next chance to guess a price.

The dog looked back and forth from Buffy to Spike and began to whine.

“You aren’t supposed to beg at the table,” Buffy informed him. “We’ve talked about this,” she admonished, giving him a stern look.

“Oh, bloody hell, feed the poor git,” Spike grumbled, tossing the dog another French fry.

Spike wolfed the fry down, big jaws chomping eagerly. The puppy sat down then, waiting for the next morsel from one of his ‘frens’. His jaw dropped open into a doggie-grin, his brown eyes glittering happily, watching the two blondes as they bantered, a dance of words, jabs and parries, feigned indignation and honest laughter.

“Hey!” she chastised the vampire. “Stop ruining my dog! You know, he was perfectly well behaved before he met you – he hated all vampires, didn’t eat fast food, and didn’t beg at the table.”

“Boring, that,” Spike pointed out. “With a name like ‘Spike’ the bloke’s gotta be a rebel, right, mate?” he asked the dog.

“Whoof!” Spike agreed, drool dripping from his big jaws as he watched the two blondes expectantly, his eyes flicking back and forth between them as if watching an exceptionally enthusiastic tennis match.

Buffy rolled her eyes and tossed him another bite of chicken. “Ruined,” she groused.

“Rebel,” Spike corrected her with a smirk, tossing the dog another fry, which the dog practically inhaled.

Buffy sighed dramatically and looked at the TV. “The refrigerator,” she announced, taking another bite of waffle.

Spike turned and looked, shaking his head. “Bollocks, the fancy, Swiss clock,” he countered.

“You are so wrong,” Buffy taunted, as they waited for Bob to announce which cost more.

“The price of the clock is…. $1,290,” the MC said dramatically, making Spike snort confidently.

“The price of the refrigerator is … $1,450,” Bob continued, drawing an ‘I told you so’ look from Buffy.

“Balls,” Spike grumbled, tossing the dog another piece of the grilled chicken.

“Na, na, na, na, na, na, naaa,” Buffy chanted, laughing, before taking a drink of her Mr. Pibb.

Spike’s eyes glittered, remembering his desire to sing that little ditty to Angel before they left. At least Buffy didn’t add the thumbed nose to it. “When does ‘Jeopardy!’ come on?” he wondered, taking another bite of his food. “See who’s laughin’ then.”

“I think ‘Jeopardy!’ was cancelled,” Buffy joked.

“In your dreams, Slayer. I’ll kick yer ass with Alex later,” Spike informed her.

“You’re the one who’s dreaming,” she asserted.

Spike gave her a sultry leer, sliding his tongue across his lips invitingly. “That ass o’ yours inspires dreams, luv, but kickin’ it isn’t involved … usually.”

“Pig,” she laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“Spike,” Drusilla’s childlike voice called from the open door. “I’m ever so cold.”

Spike jumped up and went to his sire, shrugging his duster off as he walked. “Drusilla, pet, did you have your snacks?” he asked gently as he wrapped the leather around her shoulders.

Dru pulled the coat around her slim frame, slipping her arms into the sleeves as she walked further into the room. She nodded. “They’re still all wriggly,” she revealed and laying a hand over her abdomen. “But the pixies missed my darling, deadly boys.”

“Sorry, baby,” Spike cooed, attempting to turn her back around and lead her back to their room. “Didn’t mean t’ be gone so long.”

Drusilla didn’t take the gentle hint or turn with his soft nudge, but rather climbed onto the nearest double bed and curled up into fetal position on her side. “Sleep, baby, sleep. Thy papa guards the sheep. Thy mama shakes the dreamland tree. And from it fall sweet dreams for thee,” she chanted softly to herself, sighing happily as her eyes fell closed.

Spike looked at Buffy, who rolled her eyes, but shrugged. “Finish your breakfast,” she invited. “And I’ll finish kicking your ass at ‘The Price is Right’.”

Spike grabbed the bedspread off the other bed in the room and covered his princess up, taking care to tuck the blanket in around her. He touched a kiss to her cheek, making the sleepy vampire murmur something Buffy couldn’t make out.

Once again, Buffy was both surprised by the tenderness of his actions and just the tiniest-bit jealous of the adoration that shone in his eyes. The devotion seemed to simply pour out of his heart for Drusilla, reminding her that, clearly, vampires could love even without souls. She shifted her eyes back to her meal, picking at it with her fork, the old hurt churning in her belly. What was wrong with _her_? Why couldn’t Angel’s love overcome the evil pull of the demon without his soul? Why couldn’t he love her like Spike loved Dru? Was it because he hadn’t loved her to begin with? Had he really just been using her to break the curse?

Spike sat back down across from Buffy and reached his right hand out, covering her left where it rested on the table. At the same time, the puppy stepped forward and laid his big head in her lap, nuzzling against her comfortingly.

“Know it sounds like a cliché, but it’s not you, pet, it’s him,” the vampire offered sincerely, once again seeming to read her mind. How did he keep doing that? She was way behind on the mind-reading competition.

Buffy took a breath and nodded. She set her fork down and buried her fingers in the dog’s soft fur with her right hand, not pulling her left from beneath the vampire’s. “Thanks,” she said, looking up at the blond and giving him a small, but appreciative, smile. “Are all other vampires like you … I mean with the …?” she tilted her head at Dru, not really sure of the right word. _Tenderness? Devotion? Caring? Loving? Romance? Thoughtfulness? Unselfishness? Princeliness?_

Spike snorted. “Rebel, aren’t I? Told me yourself I’m a strange vampire, eh? Reckon you might say Angelus and I are on opposite ends o’ the spectrum, pet.”

Buffy nodded, her lips pursing in thought. “I don’t generally, you know, talk to vampires much before I dust them.”

“And ya shouldn’t,” he assured her. “Don’t start questioning the mission, Slayer, or you’ll get yourself killed ‘fore I get a chance. I got dibs on that honor. Holdin’ ya to that promise of another dance,” he warned, giving her hand a squeeze.

Buffy snorted out a breath and nodded slowly, still not withdrawing her hand. “Dusty vampires are of the good,” she confirmed.

“Could start with Angel, I reckon,” Spike suggested with a wry smile, and the dog leaning against her legs huffed out his agreement.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, a small smile curving her lips. “You’re both so full of useful suggestions,” she joked, scratching the dog’s big ears affectionately.

Spike straightened, his arrogant Big Bad mask falling back into place. “Should listen t’ the both of us. Bloody helpful, we are,” he agreed, sniffing.

“Maybe so, but I’m still gonna beat your ass at ‘The Price is Right’. That ‘Final Showcase’ is mine, buster,” she threatened, ready to leave the Angel subject behind.

Spike snorted, giving her hand a final, reassuring squeeze, before pulling away and turning to look at the TV. “We’ll see, Slayer. We’ll see.”

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holi117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holi117 for the two lovely banners!
> 
> More to come soon!


	16. The Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru does what she can to protect her darling, deadly boy.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy stretched and yawned, blinking her eyes open slowly at the dim light peeping in from around the curtains. It was darker outside than it had been when she’d hung up the phone to her mom and finally gotten to sleep. It was probably about time to get going again. She sighed. She’d told her mom they should be home sometime tonight, but she wasn’t sure what time. Part of her hoped later. The sooner they were home, the sooner the ‘mission’ would be over; the sooner the truce with Spike would be over, too, and they’d go back to being enemies.

She tried to bury the thought and shake it off as momentary madness, or a lack of full reasoning skills from having only just woken up. The thought of dusting him didn’t fill her with the usual joy and righteousness she’d expected. How was she supposed to ever dust the pretty, piggy, annoying vampire that she’d crushed playing ‘The Price is Right’ and who’d crushed her in turn playing ‘Trivial Pursuit’? When had Spike started to become more person-like than vampire-like? It was just weird, and honestly, the less she thought about it, the better.

Well, maybe he and Dru will actually stay away this time and not make her find out just how weird it would be to dust a soulless demon who takes offense when you question his honor.

Buffy turned over to look at the clock and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Hello, dearie,” Dru greeted her, sitting on the edge of the other bed, just a couple of feet from Buffy.

“What the hell?” Buffy exclaimed, scrambling up and back from the deadly vampiress. “How’d you get in here? Where’s Spike?” she demanded, looking around the room.

Dru looked at Buffy like the Slayer was the crazy one. “Didn’t twinkle in like a pixie, silly goblin, walked in the door.”

Buffy looked at the door. Hadn’t she locked it this morning after Spike took Dru back to their own room? Of course she had. What the hell?

As if reading the Slayer’s mind, Dru set the key down on the bedside table between them, giving Buffy a sweet smile.

Buffy eyed her warily. Creepy, and not as crazy as she looks or acts, then. “Where’s Spike?” she demanded again, not seeing the big dog anywhere in the room.

“Mummies need a chat without little ones about,” Dru explained, not moving from her seat on the other bed.

“What are you talking about?” Buffy wondered as she reached under the pillows on the bed to find her stake. “ _Where is he!_?”

Dru turned her eyes toward the wall in the direction of the vampires’ room “The babies are napping. No need to fret, dearie,” she assured Buffy, pulling the stake Buffy was looking for from behind her on the bed and showing it to the Slayer.

Buffy slid back further on her bed, getting up to her feet on the other side and looking around for another weapon she could use.

“Not gonna hurt ya,” Dru assured her. “Would’ve already done that, silly girl.”

Well, that was a point. Of course, Dru had been more than a little unpredictable thus far. “What do you want, then?” Buffy asked again. 

“The stars whisper and sing. Destinies are callin’, but good mummies shan’t set their babies adrift in the sunshine without a thought. He’s my sweet, deadly boy. Plucked him from the street, wanderin’ and lost. All alone, he was, whimperin’ in the dark. Need t’ know ya won’t burn him, ash and embers … couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t.”

A vision of Spike as the little puppy she’d first met after sending Angel to hell popped into Buffy’s mind. She could see him wandering the dark streets, lost and alone, looking for his home, for his family, whimpering and afraid, completely helpless and confused. So helpless that he let Dru take him away from his real family, his real home. Buffy’s heart ached for the sweet little puppy, for how frightened he must’ve been. She hated the thought of him ever having been scared or feeling lost. “I’ll keep him safe. He’ll always have a place at my side. I’d never let anything happen to him,” she assured Dru.

“The shiny hobgoblin speaks in riddles and doesn’t even know the rhyme,” Dru mused to herself, tilting her head as she studied Buffy.

Buffy sighed. “Look, he’s not yours, anyway,” she reminded the vampire.

Dru smiled, but it was more feral than friendly. “Mine from the start, he was, but the stars cry by the end … dust and ash, blood and light.”

Buffy clenched her jaw. “Less with the cryptic, Dru. If you know something’s coming after him, you need to tell me.”

“You,” Dru revealed. “You are the only one who can harm him … only one who can save him.”

Buffy huffed out an exasperated breath. “I’m not gonna hurt him! Have you not been listening? Didn’t I just say I won’t let anything happen to him? What more do you want?” the Slayer demanded.

“Your vow … a promise in blood – a promise from your soul. No tin soldiers’ bits and bobs, no shackles holdin’ the boy back, making him less than he is. No glittering jewels that shift and dazzle, burning to embers in the Valley of the Sun.”

“You want my blood?” Buffy scoffed, picking out the only thing she could understand from that. “Yeah, that’s never gonna happen.”

“It’s the only way I’ll unravel the bindings and turn away,” Dru informed her.

“You know, I can still dust you,” Buffy threatened, reaching for one of the wooden chairs at the table, prepared to break it into handy, stake-sized bits.

“You’ll lose him forever if mummy is stolen,” Dru warned.

Buffy hesitated. Dru could be right. If Buffy dusted the crazy bitch, then the truce would be over between her and Spike. If he got to the dog before she could stop him, he’d kill her boy out of revenge. The Guardian was strong and smart, but he’d never really faced a master vampire like Spike in a straight-up fight – especially if Spike was in a murderous rage.

Dru stood up and slipped slowly around the end of the bed toward the Slayer. Her fangs extended, her big, blue eyes morphing to gold. Buffy took a step back, bringing the chair with her – she may have no choice but to dust the loony bitch.

Dru slashed a long cut across her palm with a fang, letting thick, ruby blood well up along the length of it. Her visage slipped back into human form as she extended her hand to Buffy. “Vow your soul with your blood – our boy may touch the sunshine, but never burn. The damsel will save the knight.”

Buffy’s face contorted in thought, still unsure if this was a trick, but Dru wasn’t moving any closer, she was just waiting there, her blood dripping in crimson splotches on the grey carpet. The Slayer stepped cautiously to her overnight bag that she’d left on the table and pulled out a knife. Holding it poised over her palm she said, “If I do this, then Spike’s mine – forever. You won’t try anything ever again.”

Dru gave her a sad smile. “His destiny will be borne on sunbeams,” she agreed with a nod.

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded, then sliced a line across her palm, matching Dru’s. Dru’s demon surged to the surface, a low growl rumbling in her throat, but she remained perfectly still, hand still outstretched.

“I promise on my soul to do everything in my power to protect Spike,” Buffy vowed, clasping the vampiress’ hand in a crushing grip. Their blood joined, Slayer and vampire, and Buffy’s entire body tingled with the power of the oath.

Dru nodded, tears glistening in her demonic eyes and rolling slowly down her cheeks. It was the first time Buffy had ever seen a soulless vampire cry. It took her completely off-guard.

“It’ll be fine, Dru,” Buffy felt compelled to assure her. “Spike’s smart and strong … he’s a good boy. Just trust me – I’ll take care of him.”

Before Dru could reply, the door to the room burst open with a screech of steel and splintering of wood. “Dru! No!” Spike screamed, reaching her and pushing her back away from the Slayer in an instant, interspersing himself between the two women.

“Whoof!!” his namesake agreed a moment later, pushing past the white rabbit to take his place at the Slayer’s side.

The blond vampire’s head swiveled between the two women, his demon rising in reaction to the overpowering aroma of Slayer blood in the air.  He whirled back to face his sire, his bare torso twisting and his unbuttoned jeans slipping a fraction lower on his hips. “What the bloody hell did ya do? Gave m’ word here, didn’t I?”

The Slayer was glad to see most of Spike’s wounds from the bear were nearly healed, if still red and angry-looking. When he turned, Buffy’s eyes fastened on Spike’s chiseled back, watching his muscles flex and bulge in his agitation as he confronted his sire.

_Bad Buffy!_

The Slayer swallowed and shook herself, lifting her gaze back up to focus on the interaction between the two vampires.

Dru lifted her palm to her lips and slowly began licking the mingled blood from her skin.

“Drusilla! Answer me!” he insisted, grabbing her by the shoulders in a crushing grip, accentuating the strength of his arms and making those marblesque muscles of his back shift and bulge. Buffy’s gaze drifted down, noticing how his jeans were just barely clinging to his slim hips. He must’ve just yanked them on in a panic when he realized Dru was gone? Or maybe he’d smelled the blood? Either way, he’d not bothered with the buttons. Her tongue darted out unconsciously to lick her dry lips and the tingle of the oath she’d taken a moment before seemed to settle low in her belly.

_Bad, bad Buffy!_

Dru stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, her expression satisfied, but also sad. “Saved my deadly boy from the ash and embers, didn’t I? Darkest knight floats in the dawn, but doesn’t burn,” she answered, extending her hand up to him, offering him the remaining blood. “Our boy ‘as two mummies now. Drink up, sweet Spike.”

“What the hell are you on about? What the fuck is goin’ on with you bloody women?” he demanded, inhaling sharply as the scent overwhelmed him, and automatically grasping her wrist to keep her from withdrawing it.

“It’s fine, Spike … it was … a … thing,” Buffy began, corralling her thoughts about unbuttoned jeans, strong arms, and chiseled backs, as her own Spike nuzzled her hand, licking the blood from her skin. “She didn’t break your word. She didn’t attack me.”

But Spike had stopped listening. Dru had touched her palm to his lips and he was reverently devouring every drop of mingled Slayer and sire blood from her soft skin.

Buffy looked down at her dog, who seemed just as enthralled with cleaning her palm as the vampire was with Drusilla’s. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I suppose you think that makes you a good boy, huh?” she asked the dog.

“Mrrrawrf,” came the deep, muffled reply as he diligently cleaned the blood from where it had run between her fingers.

Suddenly, Spike-the-vampire whirled around to face Buffy, his nostrils flaring, his golden eyes bright with bloodlust and demonic fire. Spike took a slow, menacing step forward, and Buffy took a step back, lifting up a warning finger.

“I said ‘no’,” she reminded him, as her back hit the wall. “No blood.”

The dog stepped in front of her, that subsonic warning growl trembling the air and tingling down the vampire’s spine.

The blond stopped moving, his glittering, golden eyes sweeping over her in an almost physical caress.  His roaming gaze stopped on the source of the blood, which she was still holding up in front of her, finger pointed in warning. A crimson drop slid from her palm and trailed slowly down her forearm. His eyes tracked it, mesmerized, consumed with the aroma of her, the thudding of her heart filling his ears, the taste of her still tingling his lips.

Without warning, his hand shot out toward her. Buffy made to pull her arm away, but he snatched her wrist and stopped her.

“Spike, I mean it!” she warned, trying to yank her hand from his grasp, her other hand curling into a fist, ready to defend herself. The big dog’s growls intensified, his lips lifting back from his fangs in a menacing snarl.

“No means no,” he murmured, forcibly unfurling her curled fingers to reveal the cut along her palm. He licked his lips, never taking his eyes off the blood that formed rose-red droplets along the length of the cut. Slayer blood. Ambrosia. Heaven. Every vampire’s ultimate wet dream. 

Buffy’s heart was pounding like a bass drum in her chest, her breathing shallow and erratic, adrenaline pumping, ready to fuel a fight. The fact that she’d never been able to dust him in any of their past battles flashed to the front of her mind. She kept trying to pull her hand away from him without resorting to attacking him. They were too evenly matched; there really was no guarantee of her winning that fight. Plus, her stake was still over on the other bed, ten feet away. Spike already had his weapon, fully loaded and aimed right at her.

True, now she had the dog at her side, who was still rumbling out a warning growl, but Spike had Dru. These weren’t fledges. These were master vampires. The Guardian of the Twilight had never truly battled against any vampires as powerful and cunning as these two before. He’d gotten the jump on William the Bloody a couple of times, but this was different; there would be no element of surprise here. There was no guarantee of survival for either the Slayer or the Guardian if this turned into a battle of fists and fangs.

With considerable effort, fighting against himself and his overwhelming demonic instincts, Spike lowered her hand, extending it down to his namesake, who was watching everything warily, lips pulled back from fangs in a threatening snarl.

Buffy’s brows furrowed in confusion, but she stopped resisting Spike’s grip, turning her palm, and the still-oozing cut, toward the big dog.

With tension thick enough to cut with a fang, the dog took a tentative lick of the wound, unsure how to read the strong, mixed signals being sent by his hooman and the white rabbit. Nothing bad happened, so he took another.

“Let ‘im heal it …” the vampire rasped, as if he had to force the words across sandpaper. “Can’t fight my demon all the way back t’ Sunnyhell,” Spike continued, finally lifting his saffron eyes back up to meet hers, though he still held her wrist in a vise-like grip.

“What do you mean, ‘heal it’?” she asked.

Spike looked back down, gesturing at her palm with a tilt of his head, the tension slowly melting from his taut muscles. “Never let ‘im heal ya, before?”

Buffy looked down at her hand, watching as, with each swipe of the dog’s big, rough tongue, the cut seemed to close a bit more – more than Slayer healing would account for.  “What? I … no … I …” she stammered. “How did you know that?” she asked the vampire, looking back up.

Spike finally released her wrist and touched a hand to the side of his neck. “Bear ripped my neck open. Noticed later it’d nearly healed up, was a good bit faster than the rest. Remembered Cujo had licked it.” He shrugged. “Makes sense, yeah? Mystical Guardian dog, and all.”

Buffy still looked perplexed, but said, “Yeah, I guess so,” as she looked back down at the cut, which was nearly completely closed, the bleeding stopped.

Spike spun on his bare heel then and stalked toward the door, grabbing Dru tightly by the arm as he passed and dragging her along in his wake. It was the roughest Buffy had ever seen him treat her … well, not counting the couple of all-out brawls she’d witnessed between them.

“Where are you going?” Buffy wondered.

“Smells too bloody good in here,” he called back. “Suggest ya keep that red stuff on the inside, Slayer. Only so much o’ that sweet perfume of yours a bloke can take. Makes things other than my fangs wanna sink deep inside you.”

“Pig,” she retorted, but there wasn’t any heat in the word, she was still too perplexed.  She lifted her hand up and examined it, her head shaking in awe and confusion.

“Did you know you could do that?” she asked the dog, looking down at him.

“ _Rrrawarf,_ ” Spike confirmed as he sat down and looked up at her, his big, brown eyes twinkling with pride, tongue lolling out, and tail rustling the dust bunnies over the floor.

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holi117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holi117 for the two lovely banners!
> 
> More to come soon!


	17. Tougher Than the Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The travelers make it back to Sunnyhell and have a 'welcoming committee' waiting. 

* * *

 

_“Why are you so set on keeping me away from Spike?” Buffy asked Angel as they sat in the backseat of the big DeSoto. Spike the dog and Spike the vampire were in front, the dark highway racing past in the glow of the headlights._

_“Because he’s dangerous! Geez, Buffy! You have to know that. He’s killed two Slayers and he has his mind set on you for his third!” Angel replied, giving her that ‘I’m so worried about you’ look that he had._

_“It’s not because, oh, I don’t know, that he knows things about you, about your past? You’re not just worried that he might spill the beanie-weenies? Tell me things you don’t want me to know?” Buffy countered._

_Angel rolled his eyes. “Of course not. There’s nothing about me you don’t know!”_

_Buffy’s brows went up. “What’s your favorite color?”_

_Angel started, taken aback. “Uhh … I … never really thought about it. Black?”_

_“Favorite food?”_

_“I’m a vampire … pretty much blood is my favorite food,” he pointed out._

_“Favorite book?”_

_Angel’s brows furrowed. “What is this about?”_

_“Just answer the question,” Buffy insisted._

_Angel shook his head. “I’ve read lots of books. I’m not sure I can pick a favorite.”_

_“Favorite decade?” Buffy continued._

_Angel shrugged. “This one?” he answered, but it sounded more like a guess._

_“Name a boy band,” she requested._

_“Uhh… you mean like ‘Lord of the Flies’?” he wondered._

_She rolled her eyes. “Favorite Beatle, then?”_

_The big vampire shrugged again. “Bailey?”_

_Buffy arched a brow at him. “Choices are: John, Paul, George, or Ringo.”_

_“Oh, those Beatles …uh… Paul?” he said, but again, it sounded more like a question than an answer._

_“Are you asking me or telling me?” Buffy wondered._

_“I don’t know what you want from me, Buffy.”_

_“What did you do as a human? Did you have a job or go to school before you ran across Darla?” she continued._

_“I don’t really like to talk about that,” he answered._

_Buffy snorted and looked out the window. “So, when you say there’s nothing about you I don’t know, you mean there’s almost everything about you I don’t know.”_

_Angel sighed. “None of that is important. You know everything about me that matters. I love you.”_

_Buffy’s head snapped back around. “But you don’t love me enough to be able to control your demon without a curse on your soul.”_

_Angel’s mouth dropped open. “Buffy, soulless demons can’t love.”_

_“Bullshit,” she argued, waving a hand at the blond in the front seat. The driver was fiddling with the dial on the radio, passing over any talk, stopping to listen to music before deciding to stay or continue on. “Spike can. Even Dru can in her own screwy way. I’ve seen it,” she asserted._

_In the front, Spike found a song he liked and stopped turning the dial. The music drifted softly to the couple in the back._

_[[Bruce Springsteen, Tougher Than the Rest ](https://youtu.be/_91hNV6vuBY)_ _]_

Well, it's Saturday night  
You're all dressed up in blue  
I been watching you awhile  
Maybe you been watching me too

_Angel glared at her. “Spike doesn’t love anything but the chase, the hunt, the kill,” he asserted._

_Buffy shook her head, a mixture of pity and disappointment in her eyes.  “That’s you, Angelus, not Spike.”_

So, somebody ran out  
Left somebody's heart in a mess  
Well, if you're looking for love  
Honey, I'm tougher than the rest

_“I’m not Angelus,” he spat indignantly._

_“Why were you in China when the Slayer was there? And in New York when the Slayer was there?” she asked._

_Angel shook his head, confused. “What?”_

_“Simple questions. Why were in in two cities with Slayers?” Buffy repeated._

_Angel continued to shake this head. “I … didn’t know they were there. I was following Darla in China. I didn’t know there was a Slayer there until Spike said he’d killed her. And I didn’t know there was one in New York. What is this about?”_

_“Did you know how the curse was broken … before, I mean? Before you came to Sunnydale? Before … me?”_

_“No,” he asserted vehemently. “Jesus, Buffy! Do you think I would … on purpose?”_

_Buffy blinked back tears, folding her arms over her chest defensively. “I don’t know, Angel,” she whispered._

_“What has Spike done to you, Buffy?” Angel pressed, reaching a hand out to touch her face. “He’s gotten to your head.”_

_Buffy grabbed his wrist, stopping him before his fingers brushed her skin. “Yeah, I guess he has,” the Slayer agreed. “But not the way you mean.” She blinked faster, trying to keep the hurt from spilling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Angel … this isn’t working. I … I don’t even know you. Spike was right, we really aren’t friends.”_

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy slowly woke with the side of her head resting against the front seatback. She’d been sitting with her back to the door again so she could watch the two vampires, but had drifted off as the miles rolled on. The music that had infiltrated her dream, that had been on the radio, was real and was still playing. She listened, not moving, letting the sadness and melancholy that the dream had conjured just swim around inside her.

As the next stanza began, she realized that Spike was softly singing along to it – and it wasn’t punk rock by any stretch of the imagination.

_The road is dark_   
_And it’s a thin, thin line_   
_But I want you to know I’ll walk it for you any time_   
_Maybe your other boyfriends_   
_Couldn’t pass the test_   
_Well, if you’re rough and ready for love_   
_Honey, I’m tougher than the rest_

Without moving anything else, Buffy let her eyelids flutter up just enough to see the driver. His hand tapped the slow rhythm of the song on the steering wheel. His face was illuminated softly by the dashboard lights with occasional brighter flashes from oncoming headlights. He seemed lost in the music, in the words. His voice was soft and smooth, sounding nothing like it had when he had been screaming along with his punk music. Another contradiction. It seemed like this strange vampire was made up of nothing but contradictions. 

_Well, it ain't no secret_   
_I've been around a time or two_   
_Well, I don't know, baby, maybe you've been around too_

She wished she could see Dru, but was afraid Spike would stop singing if she moved. Did the loony ho of a vampire have any clue that he was even singing? Could the ‘seer’ even see all the contradictions, appreciate the strange, attentive, self-sacrificing, dark prince of a vampire she’d made? Sometimes Buffy thought Dru could and did, but other times the dark vampire seemed utterly oblivious to Spike’s attentions.

Well, it wasn’t really any of her business, was it?

_Well there's another dance_   
_All you gotta do is say ‘yes’_   
_And if you're rough and ready for love_   
_Honey, I'm tougher than the rest_   
_If you're rough enough for love_   
_Baby, I'm tougher than the rest_

Buffy let her eyes fall closed, drifting back toward sleep, as Spike hummed along with the final bars, the song winding down.

“You okay, luv?” Spike asked.

“Mmmhmm,” Buffy replied sleepily at the same time Dru said, “Yeah.”

The big dog sat up from where he’d been lying next to Dru in the back and leaned over the seat next to Spike’s shoulder, nuzzling him, goading him for petting. Spike obliged, scratching his big, furry ears.

“Home sweet ‘ome,” Spike rumbled as they passed by the bright yellow ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign. “Reckon we made it, mate. Got both our girls back, safe and sound.”

Spike-the-dog sighed contentedly, leaning heavily into the vampire’s hand.

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

“Did you say we’re home?” Buffy asked, yawning widely and stretching her arms over her head.

“Sunnyhell in all its cursed splendor,” Spike confirmed.

“And such a fine party they’ve thrown for us,” Dru added. “Boys and girls, mummies and daddies, all in a hurly-burly of folly and wickedness.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Where’s this party at, pet?”

“Waitin’ for us, it is, at the pretty, white cottage ‘neath the whisperin’ cedars. Pssp, pssp, pssp … so many secrets they hold.”

Spike looked over at Buffy, who was straightening up in her seat, coming suddenly fully awake. “She’s talkin’ ‘bout—”

“Scary as it is to admit, even I understood that,” Buffy interrupted. “My house.”

Spike nodded and blew out an exasperated breath as he sped up, ignoring the posted speed limits and most of the stop signs. They’d been so bloody close to getting outta this mess in one piece. So bloody close!

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy had the door thrown open and was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop in front of her house. There was a cacophony of voices filling the air of her front yard, making the lights flick on in the neighbors’ houses, each voice trying to out-do the next. The group of people on her front porch all seemed angry at each other. Xander and Willow were yelling at each other. Giles was yelling at Joyce. Joyce was yelling at Angel. …Wait. Angel!?! Angel, who she’d told to go to the mansion and stay there? Angel, who she’d lied for, kept secrets for? What the hell was he doing in the middle of all this!? And just what the hell was this he was in the middle of?

“Hey!” Buffy yelled at their backs, but through the noise, no one heard. She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, stalking up the front walk toward the unruly group.

Spike’s hand on her shoulder stopped her as he let out a loud, shrill whistle which cut the night and made Buffy wince.

Everyone on the porch stopped talking and spun around at the sound. “Buffy!” was the surprised chorus from the group, who all started for the stairs, heading for her.

Buffy took an involuntary step forward, unconsciously putting herself between her friends and the blond vampire. Spike seemed unworried, though, standing on the walk just behind her, casually lighting a cigarette.

The noise began again, the whole group turning their ire on her, all demanding to know where she’d been, what she thought she was doing, why she’d gone off with Spike, and what was going on. Words like ‘irresponsible’, ‘lies’, ‘reckless’, ‘careless’, ‘foolish’, ‘immature’, ‘rash’, and ‘thoughtless’ were hurled at her from all directions. Spike and Angel’s names came up in the mix more than once, her friends’ harsh tones and accusatory words assailing her almost like a physical assault.

Buffy’s confidence faltered, and she shrunk back from the oncoming horde, from the severe tones and stinging words, feeling the attack stab directly into her heart.  On top of everything, Angel being here was adding a whole extra level of wiggins for her. She’d had a plan of how to tell everyone about his return, to try and break it to them as gently as possible, and this was certainly not it. It was all she could do to keep from covering her ears with her hands to block it out, or simply turning and running away.

With another step away from them, her back bumped against Spike’s solid chest – he hadn’t moved from where he’d been standing. Her next shallow, anxious inhalation brought his scent to her – leather and tobacco and something more, something indefinable other than ‘Spike’.  Somehow, it calmed her nerves just a bit.

When his hand curled casually around her waist, a physical support, she managed a deeper breath and steeled her nerve. She’d done what she had to do to save Spike – her Spike. It was nothing any more reckless or foolish than she done numerous times to save each of them – just like she’d done to save the world more than once. Her job. Her calling. Her duty. And they were attacking her for it?

She took another deep breath as they closed in on her, their voices rising, each one trying to talk over the others. The vampire had her back, metaphorically and physically. It felt right, normal, natural somehow. It didn’t occur to her how it would look to her friends, to Angel. _What the hell is Angel doing here, again?_

Then her mother was there next to her, wrapping a protective arm over Buffy’s shoulders and yelling back at her friends, her Watcher and her … ex. Spike relinquished his position at the Slayer’s back, leaving Buffy next to her mum, and stepped to the side. He had heard enough.

Spike dropped his cigarette and blew out another long, shrill whistle between his teeth, bringing the haranguing to a halt. For a few moments, the only sound on the front lawn was a low, rumbling growl coming from the dog. In the turmoil, Buffy hadn’t realized Spike had come up and was flanking her on the side opposite her mom, facing down her friends with bared fangs.

“You bloody ungrateful pillocks!” Spike took up, putting words to the dog’s snarls of disdain. The vampire stepped forward, putting himself between the angry mob and the Slayer, and the dog went with him, standing at the vampire’s side, facing them down.

Everyone began to speak, to argue, again. “GRRRRRR! WHOOOF!” Spike roared at them, his front feet coming up off the walk with the effort, effectively shutting everyone up once more.

The vampire smirked, his gaze sweeping over the gathered group before landing squarely on Angel. “Let me guess. You couldn’t bloody stand it, could ya? The Slayer workin’ with me, you worthless git! Had t’ go stirring up shit, didn’t ya? Getting everyone in an uproar over nothing.”

“Shut up, Spike! No one’s talking to you,” Angel retorted, stepping forward from the group.

“Angel was quite correct to bring his concerns to us,” Giles put in.

“Oh, was he, then?” Spike shot back. “You best buds now, Watcher? Got a short bloody memory, eh? All’s forgiven? Dead teachers? Hours o’ torture? Endin’ the world? Forget who actually saved your sorry ass, have ya? Me and this girl ‘ere is who!” he pointed out, jabbing a finger back toward Buffy, who was standing with Joyce a couple of feet behind him.

Giles paled, the stiffness in his fingers and ache in his heart a constant reminder of his time with Angelus. “No. Nothing is forgotten or forgiven.”

“Reckon the Powers don’t see it that way, eh?” Spike suggested, waving a hand up at the dark sky. “Brought their favorite pawn back from the dead, didn’t they? Don’t appear t’ give a rat’s ass ‘bout all he did to you lot.”

“Shut up, Spike,” Angel ground out, taking another step forward.

“Spent two decades tryin’ to make me shut up, you did. Let me think, how’d that work out for ya, Angelus?” Spike taunted as he turned to face his grand-sire squarely.

Angel narrowed his eyes, moving closer to the blond. “You really need to learn some manners, _Willie_.”

Spike smirked. “And I reckon you’re the one t’ teach me, eh, _Angelus_?” he challenged, his hands curling into fists, his game-face emerging. Spike wasn’t back to full strength, but he knew Angel wasn’t either. He’d never been able to take his grand-sire before, but that never really stopped him trying in the past.

“Stop calling me that,” Angel growled, his own demon visage taking over.

“Make. Me,” Spike challenged.

“Be my pleasure,” Angel rumbled as he drew a fist back and flashed it forward in the blink of an eye. Before the blow could land, a huge, copper and black blur of fur and power hit him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The others behind Angel scattered like roaches as the two supernatural beings snarled and growled, slashed and bit, rolling over the lawn in a flurry of fangs, fur, and fury.

“Spike!” Buffy screamed, running forward, trying to find an opening to help her dog, but the other Spike had beaten her to it. The next time Angel rolled to the top, the blond vampire snatched him off the dog by the back of his coat, and hurled the larger vamp away. Angel slammed into the trunk of one of the century-old cedar trees with a crunch of bone and a gasp of expelled breath. He crumpled to the ground at the base of the tree like a sack of growling, pissed-off potatoes. In barely a blink of the eye, the dark vampire scrambled back to his feet, golden eyes flashing with rage as both Spikes turned to face him.

“Stop!” Buffy demanded, hurrying forward and putting herself between them. The vampire and the dog halted their advance, if not their growls, but Angel continued moving.

“Get out of the way, Buffy,” Angel ordered, stalking toward his adversaries.

“Stop it!” she commanded again, but Angel ignored her, shoving her to the side as he passed.

“Goddamn it, Angel!” she snarled, catching her balance and turning in one fluid motion, sweeping one leg out and slamming it into the back of his knees, dropping him to the ground. “I said stop!” she repeated, grabbing hold of one of his arms and dragging him back from the vampire and the Guardian who were ready and willing to go another round, but who had both obeyed her command to stop.

Buffy jerked her ex-lover up and slammed his back against the tree again. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Spike,” was the simple answer Angel spat at her, his golden eyes burning with self-righteous wrath. His hand darted out, aiming for her throat, but she caught it and twisted brutally, turning him around as she wrenched his arm up behind him. She kicked one foot hard against the back of his knee. With a _crunch_ of shattering bone and tearing cartilage, he dropped down hard onto his knees, his shoulder popping out of joint as she continued to lift his arm behind him. She knew she’d never have been able to overpower him so easily if he’d been at full strength, but she wasn’t going to kiss a gift horse in the mouth.

“Listen. To. Me,” she ground out, leaning down near his ear. “I killed you once, if you think I won’t do it again, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do. Spike is off limits. Both of them. My friends? Not your friends. My mom? I don’t want you anywhere near her. Am I making myself clear?”

“Spike’s _mine_ … family,” he ground out, trying to wrench his arm from her grasp.

“Not when he’s in _my town_ ,” Buffy argued, tightening her grip and twisting harder. “Are we clear now?”

“Yes,” Angel hissed through the pain of her continued twisting and lifting of his arm, which had white-hot pokers stabbing into his shoulder.

“I didn’t hear you,” she snarled, lifting his tortured arm another fraction of an inch.

“YES!” he yelled.

“You should’ve stayed in the mansion like I said,” Buffy advised before shoving him forward and releasing him. Angel’s head slammed against the tree with an audible ‘ _crack’_ before he fell, writhing in pain on the lawn.

“Well, reckon she’s unchained that anchor, then,” Spike observed, talking to the dog.

“Rrwarf! Rrrrrrrraaarf!” the big dog agreed cheerfully, wagging his tail madly.

“Not a damsel, don’t need savin’. Can fight m’ own battles,” Spike sniffed when she turned back around to face him.

“Actually, you were fighting _my_ battle,” she pointed out. “And you were gonna lose it, to boot!” she asserted. “You’re just lucky Spike and I were here to save your sorry ass.”

“ _Pffft_!” he disagreed, as he and the dog fell in step next to her, walking back over to where the others were gathered on the lawn. “I can take that wanker any day.”

“Riiight,” Buffy groaned sarcastically. “Which is why you needed me to help you the last time.”

“Oi! _I_ helped _you_ with that one, Slayer,” Spike asserted.

“Big lotta help you were, too. Ran off just when it started getting interesting,” she scoffed.

“I helped. Kept Dru off ya, didn’t I?” he defended.

“My point exactly. You took out the little one and left the big ape for me … not very ‘white knight-y’ of you, I have to say.”

Spike sniffed derisively. “Tougher than she looks, Dru is.”

Buffy snorted out a small laugh as they came to a stop in front of her friends and Watcher.

“You two seem awfully chummy,” Xander accused angrily.

“ _Chummy_?” Buffy questioned, her brows lifting.

“ _Chummy_ ,” Xander repeated, almost spitting the word. “He had his cold, dead hands all over you. His mouth was inches from your neck and you didn’t even _flinch_ ,” he continued, his eyes narrowed suspiciously at the blondes. “But I guess shacking up for a few days would have that effect. Especially since we know you can’t resist screwing the evil undead.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped open, too stunned to speak.

Spike blurred across the short distance between them, his blow landing with a loud ‘ _clap’_ of flesh against flesh before Buffy could even consider stopping him. Xander stumbled back and fell on his back, stars dancing across his vision as he shook his head, trying to disperse them.

Giles and Joyce both drew in surprised gasps. Willow let out a pained, shocked squeak and was on her knees at Xander’s side in the next instant, her hands gently checking for injuries. There was an angry, red welt forming on Xander’s cheek in the shape of Spike’s open hand.

“Next time it’ll be a fist, ya berk!” Spike warned, glaring down at him. “Need t’ learn some soddin’ respect, you do! How many times has this girl saved your worthless life!?”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not a fang-banger,” Xander gasped back defiantly.

“Xander!” Willow admonished him at the same time Joyce snapped out, “Alexander Harris!”

Spike drew his foot back, prepared to send the boy into the next life, when Buffy’s hand on his arm stopped him, pulling him back. “Let it go,” she advised, scowling down at her so-called friend.

Spike stepped back and sniffed, squaring his shoulders and hooking his thumbs over his belt buckle, and changed tactics. “One to talk, you are. How are things with your newest little, red morsel, then? Slid into home base yet, or still hanging out at third? Savin’ yerself for the wedding night, are you, whelp?”

Xander and Willow looked at each other with fear and guilt. Willow yanked her hands away from him and shot up to her feet, taking hasty steps away from the boy as they both spluttered unconvincing denials.  

Buffy’s jaw dropped more than it had before. “What? When? What?” she babbled, looking between them as Xander tried to rise, but fell back down, his head spinning.

“Three excellent questions,” Giles drawled, taking in the guilty expressions on the two Scoobies’ faces.

“What happened to Oz and Cordy?” Buffy questioned.

“Nothing! Nothing’s happened! There are no runs! No hits! No bases! We are baseless!” Willow asserted.

“You might want to rehearse that a bit more before you give that speech to Oz,” Buffy advised, her brows furrowing.

Spike arched a brow, smirking, reckoning that the Slayer wouldn’t have any more trouble outta those two in the foreseeable future. Not with that little tidbit in her back pocket.

“Spike,” Drusilla called in her soft, lyrical voice as she came up the walk. “Have I missed the streamers and slitherin’ snakes?”

Spike stepped back from the boy and around Buffy to meet his sire. “No, luv, snakes are still slithering about in the grass,” he assured her, looking from Xander to Angel, neither of whom had managed to rise yet.

“Daddy’s all knotted up in barbed-wire and baguettes. My lit’le gypsy tart doesn’t fancy baguettes … not one little bit,” Dru said, looking over at Angel disdainfully.

“No, rather have a burger, I reckon,” Spike agreed.

“Bad Daddy!” Dru admonished, still glaring at Angel. “Should know not to play charades with gypsies. Can see right through you, they can.”

“Dru…” Angel sighed, trying to sit up on the lawn.

“Ssssst!” she hissed. “Bad Daddies get no crumpets for their tea,” she informed him before turning away.  

Spike smirked at Angel before guiding his sire over to the group on the walk, arm-in-arm.

“This one … I remember you,” Dru said, looking at Giles. “Earl Grey and treacle tart and bloodied lips that sang such sweet songs.”

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Drusilla,” he said flatly in greeting.

“He wants to see her again, my Spike. Shall I give him the gypsy? Dark eyes and sweet lips and the fragrant promise of a thousand red roses?”

“Not today, ducks,” Spike advised as Xander finally stumbled back to his feet. “Reckon we should be on our way.”

“Can we go back to Brazil, sweet William? I miss Brazil.”

“Can go anywhere ya please now, luv,” he assured her, touching a soft kiss to her temple.

“Can my gypsy tart come, too?” Dru wondered, looking at the big dog.

“Been over this, we have,” Spike reminded her, turning her and guiding her back toward the car. “Cujo says with the Slayer.”

Dru pouted. “I’ll miss my deadly boy ever so much,” she whined. “He knows all the stars by name, and sees the sparks and sunshine hiding behind the blood moon. He’s ever so clever, all cloaked in blood and dust.”

“Made a deal, didn’t we?” Spike reminded her.

Dru sighed. “My deadly boys … snip, snip, snip. Apron strings floating away, flying free, like dandelions in the breeze, and soon there will be none.”

Spike furrowed his brow. “I’ll always be your deadly boy, luv,” he assured her, nuzzling her neck gently.

“Until the raven bows her encore and the sunbeams sing,” she agreed.

Spike sighed, shaking his head. “Right,” he agreed perfunctorily, walking her around to the open passenger door and helping her in.

“I need to get my stuff,” Buffy reminded him, walking up to the car. She could feel the eyes of her friends, her mom, and Giles on her. She was pretty sure Angel had stopped writhing enough to watch too. It made her skin prickle and her stomach churn for some stupid reason.

“How could I forget? Enough bloody stuff t’ clothe Patton’s Third Army,” he groused, walking around and opening the trunk. “Didn’t even use half of it.”

“Well, as a wise man once said, ‘Better one outfit too many, than one too few,’” Buffy asserted as they both began grabbing bags.

Spike arched a brow. “Confucius?” he wondered.

Buffy shrugged. “Calvin Klein.”

Spike snorted as they began up the walk toward the house, each loaded down with luggage. “Oi! You lot damaged? Grab a soddin’ bag!”  Spike commanded the gathered friends as they passed.

They all jumped to, even Xander, heading to the car to get some of the luggage.

“Tossers,” Spike grumbled as he and Buffy went in and set the bags down in the foyer.

“What!? What is he doing _in your house_?” Xander exclaimed, coming up the steps with one small bag … the snacks bag, Buffy noted – mostly empty. “You invited this vile, evil thing into your house!?”

“We’re friends,” Buffy replied calmly, making Spike snort.

“Best friends, if ya must know,” the blond vampire added, sniffing.

“Friends?! _Friends_!!” Xander repeated, his voice raising several octaves as Giles, Willow, Joyce and the four-legged Spike joined them in the foyer.

“He’s my friend, too,” Joyce revealed. “We watched ‘Passions’ together over mugs of hot cocoa.”

“You ... I … huh?” Xander stuttered, spinning around to face her.

Joyce shrugged.

Xander looked back at Buffy.

Buffy shrugged.

“What is wrong with you people?” he demanded, horrified.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Have you not been bitch-slapped enough for one night, Xan? Cos, honestly, I bet I could make your other cheek even redder than that one.”

“ _Pffft_!” Spike disagreed. “Reckon you can’t. Red as a beet, that is.”

Buffy clicked her tongue. “That’s barely a blush,” she contended. “I think I could get to ‘cherry-red’ – not the black cherries, those bright atomic red ones in the jars.”

“Right then,” Spike invited, stepping back. “Have a go. See, won’t we?”

Xander looked like a deer in the headlights, just staring at them, dumbfounded. 

Buffy sighed. “Well, it’s no fun if he just stands there like a tree,” she asserted. “Will, take him in the kitchen and put some ice on that little pimple on his face before he says something else really stupid.”

“Uh ... yeah … okay,” the redhead agreed, guiding the brunette toward the kitchen.

“Giles, maybe you should chaperone?” Buffy suggested, arching a brow.

“Oh. I …” he stammered looking between the two blondes. “Yes, of course.” He turned to go, but stopped and turned back around, facing Spike. “I … uh … that is to say, I have come to understand that you were instrumental in my rescue from Angelus … and in helping Buffy defeat him, as well. I would just like to say … errr …”

“I think ’Thank you’ are the words you’re groping around for,” Buffy provided.

Giles looked at her and then back at Spike, a small smile – or was it a grimace? – on his face. “Yes, of course. Thank you,” he offered, extending his hand out to shake.

Spike’s brows went up, but he reciprocated the gesture. “No worries.”

Giles nodded, then he turned and headed to the kitchen with the others.

The big dog ambled over and leaned against Spike heavily, making the vamp take a step back. “Right, Cujo, leavin’ it with ya, mate. You keep that wanker out there away from our … err … _your_ girl, yeah?”

“He doesn’t need any encouragement,” Buffy groaned, trying to figure out just what to do with said wanker who she was sure was still on her lawn.

“Whoof!” Spike agreed as the vampire gave him a good scratching of his ears and solid patting on his big back.

“No one kills the Slayer but me, ya got it?” Spike reminded the dog with a conspiratorial wink. “The Slayer made a promise.”

“Whoof!” Spike replied, sitting down and lifting his right paw up for a shake.

“Brilliant,” the vampire said, reaching down and shaking on it.

“You’ve ruined my dog,” Buffy complained again, rolling her eyes.

Spike patted the top of the dog’s big head one last time and turned to Joyce. “Brought her back, safe and sound, like I promised,” he said to her.

“I had every confidence in you,” she replied. “I wouldn’t have let her go with you if I didn’t.”

Spike extended his hand for a shake, but Joyce rolled her eyes. “Oh please! We’ve shared bubble gum and ‘Passions’,” she reminded him, stepping in and giving him a hug. “Be good.”

“I’m never good,” Spike replied. “I’m bloody incredible, pet.”

Joyce laughed and released him, stepping back. “Take care of yourself.”

Spike gave her a grateful nod. “You too, luv.”

Buffy and Spike walked to the door as Joyce slipped from the room to join the others in the kitchen.

“So …” they both said at once. They both snorted out a chuckle.

“Friends?” Buffy smirked up at him.

“Friends,” Spike agreed, dipping his head and rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I’ll be right pissed if ya don’t keep your promise.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Buffy agreed sarcastically. “But we do still need to find some music for that dance.”

“Seemed t’ like the one I was singin’ in the car tonight,” he pointed out.

Not as stealthy as she thought then. _Crap_. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, we’ll see if you’re really tougher than the rest.”

Spike grinned at her, sexy and confident. “I am, Slayer. I am.”

“Maybe you should just not come back, Spike,” she suggested.

“Dru’s set on Brazil, so …” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll send ya a postcard or two, eh?”

She smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Try not to screw it up.”

Spike snorted, nodding. “Do my best.”

The air between them grew uncomfortable and silent, as if neither one of them wanted to actually say goodbye.  Buffy felt that churning in her stomach again and looked around, but didn’t see anyone watching them other than the dog.  She looked back at Spike and forced another smile to her lips.

“I guess … have a good trip, then,” she said awkwardly, extending her hand for a shake. “Don’t pick any fights you can’t win … like with bears or Chaos Demons.”

Spike smirked and took her hand in a firm grip, leaning forward and pulling her toward him at the same time. His lips touched her forehead, cool and soft. When he pulled away, she was sure she could still feel the tingling ghost of the kiss on her skin.

“Take care, Slayer,” he said before turning and striding away and across the porch. Bypassing the steps with a graceful leap, he was sauntering down the walk within just a moment, his duster billowing around his legs as he went.

“You too,” Buffy whispered, watching him go. What the hell was wrong with her eyes all the sudden? They were all blurry and wet. And her stomach? All knotted and topsy-turvy. And her throat, all constricted, like she was being strangled.

She took a deep breath and closed the door before Spike made it to the car, pressing her back against it heavily. The dog came up and leaned against her legs, whining softly. Buffy dropped down to her knees and hugged him, burying her face in his thick ruff, feeling the softness and the strength of her baby.

“It’s all good,” she assured him. “They won’t bother us anymore. No one will take you away. They won’t be back.”

Spike whined pitifully, nuzzling her neck comfortingly.

She snorted. “It’s okay, _I’ll_ buy you a hamburger.”

The big dog wagged his tail and started licking her face in earnest.

“Spike kisses! Kisses of Spike! Ewwww! Get me some mouthwash! Get me some bleach!” she exclaimed in mock horror, laughing and turning her face away to avoid the worst of it.

Still laughing she gave him one last squeeze. “I love you, Spike,” she declared before standing up. She blew out a long breath and headed into the kitchen to deal with her friends. She needed to smooth things out with them and then probably help Angel home.

Ugh. What she wouldn’t give for another road trip right now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! Only one more chapter and this episode will be over.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holi117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holi117 for the two lovely banners!
> 
> More to come soon! 


	18. Good Boi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy gets one last piece of advice from Spike, the vampire.

As dawn approached, Buffy flopped down on her bed, exhausted. She’d mostly gotten things smoothed over with her friends and Giles – or as smooth as she could for now. She was still pissed with Xander, though, and worried about what was going on between him and Willow. But she was too tired to dwell on it right now. On the plus side, they fully believed her when she said she and Angel were not ‘together’ and wouldn’t be again. Bashing his skull, smashing his knee, and dislocating his shoulder had pretty much proved that to her friends.

She probably should bake them some cookies or something. Nothing says ‘ _I’m sorry I lied about a mass-murdering vampire being back from the dead’_ like homemade chocolate chip cookies. On the other hand, maybe _they_ should bake _her_ some cookies for yelling at her and her mom. Angel and Xander should buy her a whole fucking bakery for their idiocy.

Buffy sighed heavily. Was she the worst Slayer in the history of Slayer-dom for making truces with vampires instead of just staking them? Possibly. Right now, she was too tired to care.

She’d also gotten Angel home, thanks to her mom driving them in the Jeep. She’d done a pretty good job on his knee, apparently. The trip had been tense and silent. Which was fine, honestly. She didn’t have any energy left to banter or argue with him or even listen to him lecture her. She had no idea how the two of them were going to go forward from this as friends or allies, if they could, or if she even wanted to try. She did, however, have a few questions she wanted answered, which meant she’d have to find some way to have a conversation with him at some point.

She sighed again. That could wait for another day … or week … maybe next month she’d think about it.

Spike came in and laid his big head up on the bed near her. Buffy rubbed his ears and neck absently, thinking. “What do you think mom meant about sharing bubble gum with Spike?” she asked the dog.

The big dog whined softly, pressing his head harder against her hand.

Buffy snorted. “You’re right, probably really don’t want to know.” She sighed and let her eyes fall closed, a yawn stretching her lips. “Goodnight, Spike.”

When her furry friend stayed there rather than taking his place on the floor next to the bed or curling up in his bed by the wall, she blinked her eyes open again and asked, “Do you need to go out?”

She hoped he’d say ‘no’, just lay down and go to sleep, that was all she wanted to do.

The big dog nuzzled her arm with his cold nose.

She sighed. “Of course you do,” she groaned, forcing herself back up and onto her feet. “Let’s go.”

Spike wagged not only his tail but his whole body, twisting like Chubby Checker as he led her out to the hall and then down the stairs. Instead of heading for the backdoor, however, he went to the front, looking at it expectantly.

“Spike, we’re not going patrolling or for another ride,” she explained tiredly. “Just go out back…”

“Whoof!” he insisted, barking at the front door.

“Spike! Shhh! Mom’s trying to get some rest,” she admonished him. “Let’s go out back.”

“Whoof,” he whispered, pawing at the front door insistently.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she groused. “Whatever… just hurry up,” she ordered, yanking the door open for him.

Something fluttered down at her feet when she did, making her step back warily.

Spike sniffed it, then looked up at her with a big doggie-grin on his face, his tongue lolling out happily.

“What …?” she muttered, reaching down and picking it up.

It was a postcard from the vibrant and exciting city of Metropolis, Nevada – where they’d stayed over during their last day on the road. It had a glossy, colorful illustration of a Waffle House on the front. The yellow restaurant was poised atop a green hill with a blue sky above and bright rays of sunshine glowing behind it. The words, ‘There is a light that never goes out,’ were at the bottom.

 

Buffy furrowed her brow and flipped it over. On the back, in flowing, elegant handwriting it said, ‘ _You might not be a damsel, but you deserve to be treated like a princess. Hate you. Your friend, Spike._ ’

A smile spread across her lips and that dampness that had prickled her eyes before returned. She looked up, stepping out into the crisp, early morning air and looking around. She tapped the postcard against her palm, scanning the nearly-empty street, but Spike’s familiar, black battleship was nowhere in sight.

“Thanks, Spike. Hate you, too,” she whispered into the dawn, before turning and heading back into the house. “You coming?” she asked the dog, who was staring intently out at one of the big cedar trees.

Spike looked back and forth between her and the tree, a small whine in his throat, but then turned and followed her in, giving one more glance back to the yard before the door closed behind him.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

“Welcome, Slayer,” Spike murmured, a small, self-deprecating smile curving his lips as he watched her and his namesake go back in. He slipped out from behind the big tree and was on the sidewalk a moment later, stalking silently down the block to the car and his waiting sire.

He slid into the driver’s seat just as the sun crested the horizon, sweeping across the sky with the colors of brandied peaches and soft pink rose petals.  The deadly rays tingled a warning down his spine, but didn’t touch his skin, stopped by the thick coat of black paint that he’d reapplied to all the windows.

“She saw you, my Spike,” Dru whispered, gliding across the seat to press against his side.

“No, pet, she didn’t,” he assured her.

“Saw the best parts, she did. The shiny bits all wriggling about on your insides,” she contended as her fingers danced lightly over his chest.

Spike snorted and touched a kiss to her temple. “If you say so, luv,” he placated as he started the car.

He pulled a postcard out of his pocket, a twin of the one Buffy had, and looked at it a moment, a warm smile spreading over his features. ‘ _Hate you, too.’_

He slipped it above the visor, still smiling as he put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

“Right, then, Brazil, is it?” he asked Dru.

“Yes, please. I do so miss Brazil.”

“Anything for my princess.”

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Still smiling, Buffy slipped the postcard into the frame around her mirror next to the photographs of her with her friends and family.

“Do you think a Slayer can be a princess?” she asked the dog, touching a finger to the card reverently, hearing the words, in Spike’s voice, echo in her mind.  

“Woof,” he confirmed in a low bark, careful not to wake Joyce, as he plowed against her legs affectionately, his brown eyes glittering with joy.

Buffy snorted, catching her balance, and scratched his ears and back. “Well, at least you think I’m a princess, huh, Spike?” she asked.

“Woof!” he agreed joyfully, licking her hand.

“I guess that makes you my prince?” Buffy laughed and crawled into the bed again, giving one last glance to the sunny postcard. “That doesn’t mean you get hamburgers every day, though. So, don’t get any funny ideas!”

“Mmmrrawrrf,” he grumbled before turning around on the carpet by her bed three times and settling down with a tired huff of breath.

“I love you, Spike,” she sighed contentedly, reaching down to rub his ears.

“Rrrrrr-rawrf,” he replied.

_Who’s a good boi? Spike’s a good boi._

**_THE END._ **

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! 
> 
> This episode is over, but I do hope to have more in the Mortal Allies Series in the future, so keep a watch for it. I’m thinking something for Buffy’s 18th birthday? What do you think? When should Spike T. Vampire return, heartbroken and miserable?
> 
> Note: Metropolis, Nevada is actually a ghost town, so don't go there looking for a Waffle House. Pretty sure if you find one there, you wouldn't want to eat at it. 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holi117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!
> 
> Thanks to Paganbaby and Holi117 for the lovely banners!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed meeting seven-month old Spike. Love to know what you thought ... so would Spike! {{WHOOF!}}
> 
> Thanks so much to my amazing friend, Paganbaby, for the fantastic banner that includes everything but the kitchen sink, all at my request. She's amazing!
> 
> Thanks also to my wonderful beta-readers, Paganbaby and Holi117 -- could not ask for better!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. More to come, of course!


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